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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26467990">Not While By You I Stand And Hum</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Lesbian_With_Pink_Hair/pseuds/bamboo_astronaut'>bamboo_astronaut (A_Lesbian_With_Pink_Hair)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Possessive Behavior, Scenting, Slow Burn, The Amazing Devil Lyrics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:42:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>68,631</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26467990</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Lesbian_With_Pink_Hair/pseuds/bamboo_astronaut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You. Student,” the witcher growls, voice rough and low.<br/>“My name is Jaskier,” he answers, crossing his arms.<br/>“Jaskier. You really want to help?”<br/>“Yes,” he says, before he can question the safety or intelligence of it.<br/>The man’s body tenses, as if bracing himself. “I need to get into the sewers underneath the university campus,” he says through gritted teeth as though it physically hurts him to have to make a request of Jaskier.<br/>“You can’t get into them from the rest of the sewers?”<br/>“No, they’re closed off.”<br/>“Hmm.” Jaskier thinks about it. Considers it carefully. Then he says, “Okay. I have an idea. Follow my lead, witcher.”</p><p>(or: Jaskier is a bardic arts student at Oxenfurt University who finds new inspiration in a witcher with a reputation problem. Geralt is a witcher who finds himself oddly captivated by a bard who trusts a witcher without fear. Romance ensues.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Shani, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>316</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. 1. a song you once knew well's begun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I watched the show, and played the games, and read some of the books (still working my way through) and listened to all of The Amazing Devil. I got inspired by the Heart of Stone DLC and I was like "what if I wrote a self-indulgent student!Jaskier Witcher semi-romcom that cherry picks some of my favorite things from all four?" And we here are. What's still canon should be obvious as we go but feel free to ask for clarification. Beta'd by my beloved friend Scottie. Lastly, please understand that I can, should, and will do whatever I want. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Two beautiful young ladies walk through the gardens of Oxenfurt University, gossiping together conspiratorially. Uncharacteristically, Jaskier barely even notices, so lost in his songbook. His quill is poised above the parchment. His tongue peeks out of his mouth as he thinks and thinks and…</p><p><em>Nothing</em>.</p><p>After a few moments he groans, slumps back against the tree he’s sitting in front of in defeat. His muse is dead silent. He’s had complete writer’s block for exactly a month and nine days, ever since his last class presentation of the previous semester.</p><p>“<em>Julian,” </em>his songwriting professor had said kindly, <em>“please don’t take this the wrong way. My boy, you need to find some inspiration. Your technical skill is grand, and your playing is coming along wonderfully. But your notes and lyrics…”</em></p><p>He knows she was right. He had written several duds in a row, much to the delight of one Valdo Marx, Jaskier’s self-declared rival and fellow bardic arts student a year ahead of him.</p><p>Jaskier groans again, drops his notes in the grass in favor of covering his face with his hand, rubbing at his eyes. Valdo’s last song had been a <em>dream. </em>The note progression, the complex tune, the energy of his words, the <em>fucking </em>slant rhymes…</p><p>“Must do better than Fishmonger’s Daughter,” he mutters under his breath, and then he hauls himself upright, reaching for his notes again. He thumbs back a few pages, looking over his scratched out notes. <em>Maybe I mistakenly crossed off a good idea,</em> he thinks hopefully. But a quick glance over the lyrics shows that he’d been right to dismiss the words.</p><p>“Ah, fuck,” Jaskier says, frowning sourly at the book, at his quill, as if staring long enough will force his brain to produce artistry that would put Valdo <em>fucking </em>Marx to shame at last.</p><p>“Something wrong, Jaskier?”</p><p>The cheerful voice pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks up to see his friend Shani standing over him, clutching several medical tomes in her arms with a knapsack surely containing even more slung over one shoulder.</p><p>“Why ever would you say that?” he asks defensively, closing his songbook.</p><p>“You’re sighing like a maiden longing for her warbound lover to return,” Shani teases, smiling broadly.</p><p>“I am not!”</p><p>She carefully places her books on the ground and plops down beside him, taking up his personal space on the lawn.</p><p>It’s a lovely day in Oxenfurt, truly. The weather has begun to warm again after a relatively mild winter, the students all returned from their family homes following a festive Yuletide. Jaskier himself had ended up back in Lettenhove, despite his multiple attempts to gain permission to remain on campus. Trips home to the family always result in enduring their stuffy disappointment and condescending judgment, and he tries to avoid them whenever possible. The rest of the world is where he longs to be, traveling and performing and seeing all there is. If home must be a place, it is Oxenfurt, a city where his many charms and talents are appreciated.</p><p>That is. When his talent actually produces something that doesn’t sound like utter shit or feel entirely lacking in depth.</p><p>He’s glad to be back at school, glad to see his friends and classmates again, especially Shani, who provided a friendship much more enduring and less messy than his standard tryst after his failed attempt to woo in their first year. Jaskier is a man who falls head-over-heels in love in an instant, and back out of it just as fast. Shani’s company is irreplaceable, he finds.</p><p>“All right,” Jaskier admits begrudgingly as she leans against his shoulder and smirks. “So perhaps Professor Olson thought that my last few compositions have been… lacking in. Well. Everything?”</p><p>“Everything?”</p><p>“Oh, y’know. Inspiration, originality, message… she wants my next one to be a true ballad, and not another jig about merchants and their lascivious offspring.”</p><p>Shani laughs. “I liked <em>Fishmonger’s Daughter</em>.”</p><p>“That would make you the only one who did.”</p><p>She laughs again. “You’re being quite hard on yourself, my friend. Have you tried—“</p><p>“I’ve tried <em>everything</em>, Shani,” Jaskier whines. “I’ve tried taking a lovely stranger to bed, I’ve tried sleeping on my own for days and days, I’ve tried drinking and I’ve tried not drinking, listening to my professors and ignoring my professors, reading poetry and reading prose, watching the flowers bloom and thinking about the snow… I’ve got <em>nothing!”</em></p><p>He nearly shouts the last bit, startling a nearby pigeon into flight. Shani leans her head against his.</p><p>“Hmmm…. We should have a night out, I think,” she says wisely, patting his dramatically splayed hand where it rests on the grass. “We could go to The Alchemy, have a few rounds, listen to the other student performers… maybe you can pick up someone just your type?”</p><p>“Don’t be silly, everyone is my type,” he says, pouting on principle.</p><p>“I know, Jaskier,” Shani replies, making a serious effort to conceal her amusement at Jaskier’s tragic artistic plight. “Who will it be? Only one way to know! We’ll make an evening of it. I heard some of the other medical students will be going too. You must join me.”</p><p>“Fine,” Jaskier concedes. “But I doubt it will help. Nothing else has so far.”</p><p>“It might be fun, though!”</p><p>Jaskier shrugs. It might be, indeed.</p><p>--</p><p>Geralt of Rivia arrives in town in late morning, leading the ever-faithful Roach as he stalks through the streets of the city looking as though a stormcloud is floating above his head.</p><p>He had a series of piss-poor contracts since emerging from his winter in Kaer Morhen; peasants and aldermen who feared him just as much as the monsters he’d killed for them, who had given him as little coin as he let them get away with and had refused to even allow him to stay in a barn, let alone an inn.</p><p>To that end, he made his way south to Oxenfurt. It is a university city, the people more open-minded, the pay slightly higher, although the contracts tended to be duller and the sights and smells of so many people living in one place was frequently overwhelming to sensitive witcher noses and ears. Geralt never thought it was especially hard to keep a canal free of drowners, logistically speaking, and yet the bulk of jobs in the early spring always seemed to be just that.</p><p>He makes his way to city center where the message board looms. The boards tend to be full of superstitious warnings for the foolish, personal ads for the lonely, notifications about sales from certain vendors, and, if he is lucky, a decently paying request for a monster to be slain. Geralt peruses the fliers critically before noticing one that seems particularly heartfelt.</p><p>
  <em>To whatever man is brave enough,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                A terrible beast prowls the streets of Oxenfurt, preying on sailors and students alike. Moreover, it has killed men and women walking from the taverns and shops in the night! This creature grows bolder by the day and the Redanian Army in the streets do nothing. I have little to offer in repayment but I feel compelled to write this notice. None but I seem concerned with the peculiar nature of the bodies, and thus I write this posting here in the hopes that a passing Witcher would be good enough to speak to me about this beast. I will wait in the late evenings at The Alchemy, an inn and tavern, in the hopes that one brave soul will step forward to slay this predator.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                -Alta Markom</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Geralt reads the notice twice; he immediately suspects a few possible creatures the beast might be, but without speaking to witnesses and examining the corpses, should any remain that haven’t been cremated or returned to family members, he can’t know for certain.</p><p>“What do you think, Roach?” he mumbles. Roach pushes her head against his arm in answer. It’s a pointless question; his curiosity has been piqued.  Geralt’s insatiable curiosity is the only thing that motivates him more than an empty coin purse (aside from a well-directed barb by Yennefer), and he finds that he very much wishes to know the answer to the question of the monster’s species.</p><p>The witcher folds the notice and tucks it into a pocket on Roach’s saddlebag before wandering up the street.</p><p>He’s been to The Alchemy before, months ago, and knows the owner and innkeeper Stjepan will almost certainly agree to rent a room to a witcher. To a Butcher, even. Geralt has enough coin saved from the previous two drowner jobs for at least a night plus boarding for Roach, and maybe a hot meal and cold ale for once. Not a single thing more than that, however. Hopefully he will resolve the situation quickly enough to earn a decent enough payout to rest for an extra day or so before continuing south.</p><p>As he makes his way from the notice board to The Alchemy, he passes a bakery. The front window displays honey cakes and cinnamon buns and all manner of pastries. Geralt stares at the sweets in the window. He thinks about the hardtack and cured meats flavored with nothing but salt in his pack. He thinks about the perilously light coin purse on his hip.</p><p>Geralt guesses he must look odd to the humans nearby, glaring at fluffy wheels of kołacz through a window. A few university students seem to make note of him as they walk past, giving the angry-looking witcher a wide berth. Roach nickers softly, nudging his shoulder with her nose. It breaks him out of his staring contest with the baked goods.</p><p>It’s true that witchers can and will eat whatever they’re able. Geralt is no different, carrying standard road fare and hunting whatever game he can on the road, able to cook fairly bland stews and fire-roasted meats as needed. He would rather be eaten by a cluster of arachas than admit that he has anything akin to a <em>sweet tooth. </em>He wouldn’t even admit it to Roach. Still. If he <em>happened</em> to be hungry, and he just <em>happened </em>to have an extra crown or two, and he just <em>happened</em> to be passing a bakery at such a time as both factors were true, well. Who would ever know?</p><p>“Come on,” he says gruffly, walking again towards the inn. With any luck, the poster would arrive early and he could get started on a decent job in peace.</p><p>--</p><p>The energy in The Alchemy that evening is raucous and fun, filled with students recently returned from their winter at home. A few senior year bardic arts students are performing in a group, and more students are dancing and drinking and yelling out praise and playful jeers at the performers, who shout back at them good-naturedly. Even several members of the faculty are in attendance, sitting at the bar and gossiping and drinking. The mood is festive, with candles everywhere and colorful celebratory start-of-term streamers and paper decorations hung up over doorways and the bar itself.</p><p>Shani and Jaskier arrive after having dinner in the main hall, ready to drink and dance the night away.</p><p>“I’ll grab us something to start,” Jaskier says to his friend, and she nods and makes her way towards the dance floor where she sees another of her medical student friends already halfway to drunk.</p><p>Stjepan is behind the bar, calmly serving what is seemingly half the school’s population with the same patience and quiet amusement as ever.</p><p>Jaskier grins as he approaches. “My good sir!” he exclaims. “I will have two glasses of your finest ale, if you please!”</p><p>“My finest ale is 15 farthings a glass,” Stjepan answers serenely.</p><p>Jaskier revises, “I will have two mugs of your cheapest rum!”</p><p>The man laughs and pulls two mugs from behind the bar, pouring from the tap, before sliding both to Jaskier, who pays and takes them over to Shani.</p><p>“Look at that,” she says, pointing at the signup list pinned to the wall. “Your best friend is going to play later! Won’t that be a hoot?”</p><p>Jaskier snorts. “Oh, and what instrument will you be playing, darling?”</p><p>She takes the mug and downs half of it in one go, which Jaskier thinks is just another thing he loves about her. “Aw, am I really your best friend, Jaskier?”</p><p>“Well I certainly don’t buy Stjepan’s nicest stock for just anyone,” he answers, taking a drink of his own. The rum burns down his throat just enough, and the aftertaste isn’t especially medical so he figures it’s decent drink for what he’s been charged.</p><p>“That’s true. You don’t buy it at all.”</p><p>He laughs. “All right, all right. My ego can only take so much of a beating, Shani.”</p><p>Shani shakes her head and grins, finishing off her drink and putting the empty mug over on the bar.</p><p>“That’s bad news because I was really trying to say that Valdo’s signed up to play, his turn is three student groups from now.”</p><p>Jaskier groans, like he’s been shot through with an arrow, even staggering back a step.</p><p>“Oh, I wonder what poor underclassman he’s stolen a song from this time!” Jaskier laments dramatically, throwing his free arm out carelessly and accidentally smacking another patron in the shoulder. The woman glares at him and moves away before he can apologize.</p><p>“You should play a song too!” Shani insists, snagging his mug from his hand and taking a sip.</p><p>“I haven’t got my lute,” he answers, stealing his rum back and finishing it. “I’ll stay for a while but I <em>will not</em> remain to hear that—that <em>untalented hack—</em>that absolute <em>thief with no artistic integrity—</em>that—“</p><p>“Jaskier!” Shani interrupts, laughing. “Relax! We’re here to have fun! Come on; let’s look around at the tables, maybe we’ll both get a little lucky, huh?”</p><p>“Hmm. Fine. But I am <em>not </em>finished, I have <em>so many more—“</em></p><p>“Yes, insults you can come up with on the spot but sheet music you’re at a loss, I understand.”</p><p>Jaskier shrieks and sputters indignantly, shoving at his friend who laughs hysterically at him.</p><p>“You—you take that back!”</p><p>He grabs Shani by the shoulders and shakes her, and she can only laugh harder and harder at his antics. He plays up his behavior, if only because Shani has tears in her eyes and making the people around him happy and comfortable is one skill that comes entirely naturally to him. (Even if Shani is right, and his writer’s block is affecting his classroom performance.)</p><p>“Shani!” he whines, and she wipes at her face with mirth. They both drank the rum pretty quickly and already Shani is tipsy. Jaskier is not far behind, but he’ll need a little more before he can ignore the lingering frustration from the afternoon.</p><p>They each buy a few more rounds; at some point they are joined by Shani’s friend Aldona from her medical classes. The three of them toast the coming semester, and they toast to being back from break, and then they toast to Yule itself, although Shani doesn’t celebrate it. (They then toast the Festival of Lights, which is what Shani’s family celebrates instead). Finally they toast Oxenfurt University, just to be absolutely thorough.</p><p>By the end of their series of toasts, Jaskier’s head is spinning and the cacophonous noise of student music and shouting and laughter and the stomping feet of the dance floor all blur together beautifully. Jaskier feels light and happy and oh, someone is grabbing his hand, pulling him to the dance floor. He tries to focus; he thinks it’s a handsome sophomore student from the history majors. The man is blond, and tall, and a <em>very </em>good dancer, as far as Jaskier can tell, not that he’s doing an especially grand job of telling much by this point.</p><p>Shani is there putting another mug of rum into his hand, which he manages to drink without sloshing it all over himself or the history major whose hand is at Jaskier’s waist. Jaskier thinks he’s telling a story. He tries very, very hard to focus on the story, as the music is very good, which he says out loud. His dance partner is saying something about Cidaris. He thinks? Or someone from Cidaris? Jaskier shakes his head and forces himself to focus.</p><p>“—another bard in your class I believe? Or is he a year above you?”</p><p>“What. Who? Is a year above me?” Jaskier’s words slur together.</p><p>“Valdo? Right, from Cidaris?” the man says hesitantly.</p><p>“<em>Him</em>!” Jaskier makes a disgusted noise. “He’s a rapscallion, a crook! All flash and no substance whatsoever!”</p><p>The man seems a little surprised. “Oh? But weren’t you just saying you were enjoying the song?”</p><p>Jaskier’s head snaps around to face the stage, where indeed Valdo Marx (of Cidaris, yes) is strumming a mandolin along with another student who is playing a tambourine as they sing together. Jaskier doesn’t recognize the song. He does have to admit that it is rather good, a festive and uplifting jig with lyrics raunchy enough to please a student crowd.</p><p>“I—I need another drink,” Jaskier grumbles, detaching himself from the history major. In the back of his mind he knows this move will potentially not lend itself to the goal of fucking the aforementioned history major, who seems sweet-natured and is very tall and has very strong hands.</p><p>His dance partner laughs and releases him. “Very well. Might I buy it for you? Ah, Jaskier, right?”</p><p>“Yes. That is my name. It is Jaskier. It is so lovely to dance with you, truly,” he says. “I would very much enjoy a drink with you. Ah. I’m terribly sorry, you know my name, but…”</p><p>“Tarin,” the history major replies, looking amused.</p><p>“Tarin! A lovely name.” Jaskier gives the man his most charming smile. Tarin appears to be suitably charmed.</p><p>They find two free stools at the bar; Jaskier orders two glasses of wine and makes his final toast of the night, to the new semester. (Tarin doesn’t need to know Jaskier toasted to that once already). As they chat, Jaskier glances around the room wondering where Shani got off to; on the dance floor he thinks he sees a few flashes of short red hair, but it’s hard to really say. There are varying levels of intoxication around the bar and handfuls of tables towards the back of the room. Most of the patrons of The Alchemy seem to be enjoying the evening as it crawls dutifully towards midnight.</p><p>“Huh,” Tarin says, drawing Jaskier’s attention back to him. “Look at that.”</p><p>He’s gesturing towards the table furthest away from the main room, as far as you could get from the dancing and music without being outside. There are two individuals at the table. One is wearing the uniform of a University employee, likely a gardener. The other is wearing armor made of black leather and has two swords strapped to their back. A black cloak with its hood pulled over their head obscures their face from view.</p><p>“Hmm? Why ever would anyone need <em>two</em> swords?” Jaskier mumbles, taking another generous gulp from his glass. “Shouldn’t one be enough for the dangers of the road?”</p><p>“It must be a witcher,” Tarin says, leaning in close. His eyes are bright with fascination, even through his pleasantly drunken haze. “You know, not very much of their history is available to the public. My faculty advisor lent me a very rare treatise on their order last school year; it’s a fascinating account. They’re truly a terrifying kind of creature.”</p><p>“Creature?” Jaskier frowns, swaying a bit in his seat. He leans an elbow against the bar for balance. He tries to put together his objection. “I know they can be violent to people, ‘course, but I think. That in person. Um, ah, he just looks like a strong fellow to me. Hardly seems nice to say that’s a <em>creature</em>.”</p><p>“Well, they aren’t human, so what else would I call them?”</p><p>Jaskier drains his glass and acquiesces. He doesn’t particularly care what Tarin calls a witcher, though he is rather amused at Tarin’s bright academic interest. Jaskier decides he would much rather have the other man’s interest back on himself, however, thank you very much. He turns away from where Tarin is looking and glances across the bar where he finally spots Shani, who is drinking again with Aldona. He tilts his head towards Tarin and Shani gives him a thumbs up.</p><p>Turning back to Tarin, Jaskier says, “In any event. Apparently this one is busy. We ought to leave him alone.”</p><p>After a few more moments of staring like the witcher is a specimen in a laboratory, Tarin rips his attention from the strangers and smiles brightly at Jaskier. “Yes, of course. I apologize, I’ve simply never seen a witcher in person. Not very many left.”</p><p>“That may be so,” Jaskier says as charmingly as he can. “But there is also not much of this wonderful night left, and wouldn’t you <em>much</em> rather spend it with me?”</p><p>Tarin grins. “Aye, that I would.”</p><p>With a lascivious smirk, Jaskier takes one of Tarin’s hands in his own, and leads him towards the back of The Alchemy.</p><p>--</p><p>Stjepan remembers Geralt from previous stays; Geralt expects it’s less to do with the innkeeper’s memory and more to do with his rather unique appearance, but the man is welcoming to him all the same. He gets Roach squared away in the stable, and has enough coin left for a room and a meal as he’d hoped.</p><p>“Bad night to do business in here,” Stjepan says as Geralt comes downstairs after depositing his belongings in the rented room.</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“It’s the first weekend since the semester started at the University. This place will soon be filled with students and staff.”</p><p>Geralt frowns. He doesn’t generally mind a tavern when it’s crowded, but he’s been at Kaer Morhen with only a small handful of familiar faces for company for three months, followed by just a few weeks of traveling between small villages. He doesn’t relish the idea of being packed into a room of drunken coeds.</p><p>Unfortunately, it seems it can’t be helped. Geralt decides to meditate in his room until the contract poster is meant to arrive, and he’s pulled from his trance a while later by the loud and off-key tuning of instruments and the louder chatter of what must be a large group of people. Within minutes, a lively band begins to play in earnest, and based on the accompanying shuffling sounds, dancing must have begun as well. Still, Geralt glances out the window at the dark sky and knows it must be late enough, and he makes his way down the stairs, pulling his cloak up over his head. <em>No need to draw attention</em>, he thinks, and despite his best efforts the white hair is often a dead giveaway.</p><p>Downstairs is as loud and overwhelming as he anticipated, and Geralt finds himself squinting in a glare at the room on reflex. It isn’t any one person’s fault, of course. If anything, it’s his own fault for coming to the city at the start of the term. He’s aware of the common university student custom of wild parties, particularly on important dates.</p><p>Seeing all the young people having such a splendid time, so full of life, Geralt mildly thinks it would be a shame to see any of them lose that.</p><p>He scans the room carefully, cat eyes sharp; on the small raised platform serving as a stage, there are four people playing instruments plus an additional person singing. There are approximately seventy people dancing, possibly more but not quite eighty. At least twenty are perched around the bar drinking and talking, and another twelve, maybe fifteen in groups sitting at the tables. One table, the one furthest from the noise and the action, has a single occupant wearing some kind of uniform. The person looks nervous and resigned, and despite the mass of bodies, Geralt can smell the nervous fear wafting from them as they drink a beer. <em>This</em>, he thinks, <em>must be my contact</em>.</p><p>Geralt makes his way through the room and seats himself at the table. The other individual looks surprised, their pulse jumping loudly enough for Geralt to hear.</p><p>“Are you Alta?” Geralt asks.</p><p>“Ah, why yes, I am,” they say. “Who might you be…?”</p><p>“Geralt of Rivia,” he answers. “I’m a witcher.”</p><p>Alta visibly relaxes, but still smells nervous. Geralt is used to that.</p><p>“A witcher. Thank the gods. I posted a week back and I thought perhaps no witcher would ever pass through the city…”</p><p>“You’d be hard-pressed to hire a witcher in the winter,” Geralt explains. “Many monsters go dormant in the cold.”</p><p>“Oh, so I suppose you would do the same. That does make sense. Well, then more glad am I that spring has come,” Alta says. Their hands squeeze around their beer bottle as they swallow nervously.</p><p>“Can you tell me about the monster?” Geralt asks, attempting with his severely limited people skills to seem less threatening to the human before him. It rarely helps. It doesn’t help this time either.</p><p>“Yes, certainly! You see, there’s something what’s been targeting sailors at night. It started up after the first frost, far as I can tell. Killed four people already. Coroner couldn’t tell what had done it, but she thought probably the same thing had killed ‘em all.”</p><p>“What made her think that?”</p><p>Alta takes another drink from the bottle. “Mm. Well. No wounds! Just pale and dead. She thought maybe a heart attack after the first two but once it was three dead within a month, it seemed too much to be a coincidence. The fourth victim was my friend, a sailor off the docks. So I talked to the coroner and she and I pooled our coin in the hopes it will be enough to convince you to help us.”</p><p>Alta slides a small pouch across the table; Geralt picks it up, feels the weight of it. It isn’t much, not as much as he hoped, but Alta seems distraught and it’s more than he’d typically make out in the small villages of Redania.</p><p>Geralt hands the bag back to Alta.</p><p>“I’ll take the job,” Geralt says. Alta sighs with relief, shoulder slumping as they finish off their drink.</p><p>“Thank you, master witcher, truly! The coroner, Lora, her facility is off the docks, on the north end. The first three victims have already been cremated, but my friend… well, it’s been a week. I don’t know what you could learn but it’s my fervent wish you don’t get a fresher corpse to examine. I-I mean, not that I don’t want you to have help, but—“</p><p>“I understand,” Geralt answers. “I will go speak with her. Will you be here all night?”</p><p>“I’ll stay as late as the bar is open,” Alta says. “If you’re not back by then I can come here as soon as possible tomorrow. Is that sufficient?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Geralt stands and excuses himself from the table. He glances back at the room of sweaty, drunken students. Hears their laughter and their chatter. He thinks despite how helpful it might have been, he also isn’t eager for a fresher body to examine.</p><p>He turns to the door, and leaves The Alchemy in favor of the cool evening outside.</p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>Jaskier thinks Tarin is a stupendously good kisser, and he was absolutely right about his hands earlier, enjoying them now as they untuck his chemise from his trousers and slide against the thin skin over his ribs.</p><p>“Ah,” he breathes softly against Tarin’s mouth, and the other man huffs out a laugh. He’s still so wonderfully buzzed, and so is Tarin, and everything feels quite good in the back hall of the tavern. The music is filters in from the main room, but Jaskier hardly hears it over the sound of his own racing heartbeat thrumming in his ears.</p><p>His slides his hands up Tarin’s chest, nails digging in just slightly as he works a thigh between Tarin’s legs.</p><p>“Ah, fuck,” Tarin mutters, pulling away from the kiss in favor of pressing his mouth against Jaskier’s neck, sucking at the sweaty skin he finds there.</p><p>Neither of them are particularly elegant, drunk as they are and desperate like cats in heat, rubbing at each other through their clothes. It doesn’t last especially long either, though Jaskier doesn’t need it to. They each get a hand on the other, their movements rough, quick, and dry. Jaskier finishes with a stuttering gasp, lips against Tarin’s cheek, and they lean against each other briefly before cleaning up as best they can. Jaskier pulls his handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe off his messy hands.</p><p>“That was fun,” Jaskier says, smiling wickedly.</p><p>Tarin laughs. “It was.”</p><p>Jaskier presses a kiss to his cheek and Tarin steps back, trying to fix his shirt which got twisted partway around. “Will you have another drink? Or are you going to call it a night?” Jaskier asks.</p><p>“Classes do begin for me early in the morning,” Tarin says with a put-upon sigh. He rests a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “I should get back to the dorms. But I’ll see you around, Jaskier?”</p><p>Jaskier beams at him. “Oh yes, you certainly will.”</p><p>Tarin grins. “Maybe next performance night you’ll play a song as well. Better than that other fellow, certainly.”</p><p>Jaskier fights to keep the smile on his face. “Oh, perhaps. It all depends on where the music leads me in the coming weeks.”</p><p>“I look forward to it.”</p><p>Tarin kisses Jaskier one more time before leaving, glancing back several times with that very charming smile of his. Jaskier leans against the wall of the tavern, satisfied. He feels warm and relaxed and good, as he always does after a decent fuck, quick and dirty though it might have been. He enjoys his afterglow for a few moments before making his way back to find Shani.</p><p>She’s sitting with Aldona who has gone much too hard on the ale and is slumped against her. She’s got a full glass of white wine, and looks nonplussed about her nearly unconscious friend. “Back so soon?” Shani asks with a laugh. “I saw your friend heading out with a biiiiig smile on his face.”</p><p>“Well, what can I say, darling? I’ve got a magic touch.”</p><p>Shani snorts and takes a sip of her wine. “And how was <em>his </em>touch?”</p><p>Jaskier grins broadly. “Not half bad!”</p><p>She rolls her eyes and brings the glass up to drink again, and then glances over him with her bright eyes. “You’ve got a hickey,” she says gleefully, taking a drink as Jaskier gasps and claps a hand over where he knows Tarin had been mouthing at his neck.</p><p>“Oh, shoot. Well, is it low enough to cover up when I’m all buttoned up?”</p><p>She tilts her head consideringly. “Should be.”</p><p>“That’s all right then.” He looks around the room. “Well, Shani, did you manage to have fun? Or did Aldona here take up all your time?”</p><p>“I would say both!” Shani replies. “Didn’t meet anyone like you did, but we’ve danced for hours and drunk plenty… maybe a bit more than plenty for Aldona.” She glances sympathetically at her friend. “She’s not going to feel grand in the morning. I’ll leave her some herbs to help with the hangover when I put her to bed.”</p><p>Shani drains the glass and then holds it out towards Stjepan, still diligently working behind the bar, who leans over to fill it. She thanks him and takes a sip. “Someday she’ll learn to pace herself.”</p><p>“Shani,” Jaskier says, planting himself clumsily on the barstool next to them, “we can’t all be champion drinkers like you.”</p><p>“It’s true, not everyone has my skill. As it is, this’ll be my last. I want to get her to bed soon. What’ll you do? Care to walk back with us?”</p><p>Jaskier shakes his head. “I’m going to sober up a bit, I think. But I shall see you tomorrow, yes?”</p><p>“I’m sure you will. I’ve got no classes until the afternoon, and I know your seminar won’t start for another few days.”</p><p>Shani drains her glass of wine one final time before she hands it off to Stjepan and stands up. Jaskier helps her loop Aldona’s arm over her shoulders.</p><p>“Where… where’re we goin’…?” Aldona murmurs, head lolling against Shani’s neck.</p><p>“Back to the dorms with you!” Shani tells her, and Aldona makes attempts a nod. “All right, all right, we’re off. Thanks for coming with me, Jaskier. Hope you found yourself some inspiration.”</p><p>He waves at Shani and Aldona as they go. A few other students have also begun the walk back to campus. He doesn’t see as many familiar faces, and it seems Valdo left after his set, which suits Jaskier just fine. He asks Stjepan for a tall glass of water and eats some of the spiced almonds available at the bar.</p><p>Jaskier glances around the room; a few determined merry-makers are still dancing and drinking, and at least two more student performances are yet to start, but the bar is much emptier than it had been.</p><p>In his head, he considers lyrics about tonight. He could write a song, probably. About a sexy little tryst in the back of a crowded tavern. About strong hands and a clever mouth. It would be fun, raunchy. Not unlike some of his other works. But as he tries to remember his brief time Tarin, nothing about it especially sticks out in Jaskier’s mind. It was fun, sure, and nice, and it had felt rather good. But just as quickly as Tarin gained his affections, already Jaskier feels them dimming. There was nothing brilliant or clandestine about it. It was just a hand job in the back of a bar. Nothing new, nothing overly thrilling. It’s not a song<em>. </em>It’s not even a poem.</p><p>Jaskier groans, resting his arms on the bar and burying his face there. “What is <em>wrong </em>with me?”</p><p>Mercifully, no one is listening to answer the question.</p><p>--</p><p>Lora welcomes Geralt into her office immediately and invites him to examine the body of Alta’s sailor friend. The man has begun to decompose, although a rune inlaid in the wall of the morgue keeps the temperature low enough that the smell isn’t overwhelming and the overall process of rot is slowed. Geralt is grateful for this, as an autopsy is made easier with a body that hasn’t begun its inevitable transformation into slime and bone.</p><p>He checks the sailor’s body; the hands are rough and the nails trimmed short, evidence of a physical laborer. There’s no tissue or blood under the nails, implying the man was either killed instantly or was incapacitated immediately upon attack. He takes one of the coroner’s surgical knives and opens the chest cavity to discover that heart failure never occurred. Then he notices a bite on the shoulder; Geralt can tell it was done while the man was still alive.</p><p>The bite wasn’t the cause of death, he realizes quickly. It’s something he’s seen too many times before.</p><p>“Were all the victims drained of blood the same way?” Geralt asks the coroner.</p><p>“Yes,” she says. “Never seen anything like it…”</p><p>“Hmm. I have. Vampire did this. Not sure what kind, but I’d guess it may have come into the city on one of the long-haul ships that docks here over the winter,” Geralt said, checking the body over for any additional information. “Maybe made a nest, decided to stay for a while.”</p><p>“A <em>vampire</em>!?” Lora gasps, looking instantly quite pale. The sour smell of fear spikes wildly in the room. Geralt doesn’t blame her; while many monsters pose a threat to humans, few actively hunt them. And a vampire in Oxenfurt could gorge itself if it figured out how to get around quickly.</p><p>“Where have the bodies been found? Is it random?”</p><p>“I don’t know if it’s random, but no one has noticed a pattern. The first two were found in two different back alleys. The third was near the well in the central eastern part of town. This man was found near the underground outlet into the bay. They’ve all been killed at night, though, some discovered the next morning.”</p><p>He ponders it for a moment. He suspects it’s a katakan, which would explain its preference for nighttime attacks and the ease by which it’s moved throughout the city. Geralt decides the best course of action is to go to the site of the last victim’s death. He won’t be able to use his medallion to sense a katakan, but it’s as good a place to start looking as he’ll get.</p><p>“Thank you,” he says gruffly, trying to perform some aspect of polite conversation that puts humans at ease.</p><p>“Oh, no, thank <em>you, </em>master witcher,” Lora says sincerely. “If you hadn’t picked up the contract… well, I wasn’t looking forward to endless mysteriously dead bodies.”</p><p>Geralt leaves the morgue and makes his way to the section of the dock where the sailor was found. As Lora said, it is by the outlet into the marina from the underground passages. He slows his breathing and focuses on his senses.</p><p>His hearing doesn’t pick up anything interesting, but he smells the rotten stench of sewage and sees the stain on the deck where the body must have lain until it was found. There are tiny, almost imperceptible droplets of blood spattered on the wood. He tilts his head, focusing.</p><p><em>A trail,</em> he thinks<em>. </em>Into the sewer<em>. Of course</em>, Geralt realizes. All the bodies were found near grates or entries into the sewer system beneath Oxenfurt.</p><p>Geralt wrinkles his nose with distaste; even the overwhelming scent of sweat and booze in the crowded inn was far preferable to the mid-sized city’s sewer system. Why so many monsters in urban areas tended to prefer them despite the smell, Geralt would never understand.</p><p>“Fine,” he mutters to himself.</p><p>He takes one last deep breath of relatively clean sea salt air and pulls at the grate over the sewer outlet. It swings open easily, having been unlocked, and he hops down, landing with an unpleasant squishy splash.</p><p>The sewers under Oxenfurt are old; some sections are actually remains of elven ruins that were converted after being buried and built over several centuries prior. As such, it’s feasible to get around almost the entire city. It’s also dark in the sewers, especially at night. Geralt grimaces as he pulls a small bottle of Cat from his pouch and downs it.</p><p>The effect of the potion is nearly instant; the room seems to go black and white but brightly, every edge and turn and wall as clear as if in broad daylight. The shadows disappear as the pathways become apparent.</p><p>With focus, Geralt follows the faint blood trail through the sewers of the city. Most of the gates are unlocked, and a few of them he’s able to budge with Aard or go around through cracks in the walls. He traces the path the vampire took until he reaches a spot where the ground has been disturbed.</p><p>Geralt assumes at this point the monster changed its shape, presumably to fit through the narrow bars now in front of him.</p><p>The grate is one of the more recent parts of these passages. The metal is new and strong, and it doesn’t budge when he shoves or pulls on it. Aard doesn’t help either, doing nothing but pushing the dirty water on the floor around. Geralt considers what he must be under and realizes he’s near the campus. To protect the students from intruders and the vast knowledge in the university’s library from thieves, the school is like a fortress to strangers at night; only someone with proof of their student or faculty status would be able to get past the guards. And naturally, the sewers would be just as well fortified from entry.</p><p>“Fuck,” he growls. His options are to wait until morning (and risk the katakan killing another person in the meantime, or even escaping him entirely as the trail goes cold) or find some way into Oxenfurt University.</p><p>He deliberates only for a moment. He needs to get paid, and he doesn’t particularly want the vampire to kill anyone else.</p><p><em>The bar</em>, he thinks. <em>Maybe Alta is still there.</em> <em>They’re a staff member, they could get me inside the campus gates.</em></p><p>Geralt retraces his steps back and climbs out of the sewer, squinting as he adjusts to being outdoors with Cat running through his system. Outside, even the lamplights and lit storefronts seem far too bright. He pulls his hood over his head and makes his way through the city back to The Alchemy.</p><p>As he approaches he already knows he’s shit out of luck; there’s no music playing inside, and the chatter is reduced to almost nothing. A glance through the window shows that of the few occupants still at the tables, Alta is not among them.</p><p>Geralt frowns. Thinks. It’s a problem, it has a solution. He could try to scale the walls. Or maybe use Axii, get past a guard. Or see if there’s a portside outlet he could get into if he swam. Or…</p><p>“Hey, you!”</p><p>Geralt snaps his head up at the exclamation, glancing towards whoever had made the sound.</p><p>The witcher sees what appears to be a university student. It’s a young man wearing a brightly colored, finely embroidered doublet, unbuttoned, with matching trousers. Geralt’s immediate assessment based on his clothes is that the man is probably from a wealthy family and based on his smell the man is probably in the process of sobering up.</p><p>He turns his face away from the man before he gets close enough to see;  Cat is one of several potions that makes his appearance more frightening to humans. Geralt doesn’t particularly care if humans fear him, but it does make his work much harder, and it does affect how they treat him. If this man sees his deathly pale skin and pitch black eyes and the dark, thick veins around his face, and starts screaming for the guard, well, that won’t be very helpful at all.</p><p>“You! You’re that, uh, that witcher, aren’t you?”</p><p>Geralt holds his breath. “I am <em>a</em> witcher,” he says neutrally.</p><p><em>Don’t say it, </em>he thinks. His hair is covered, and this man is hopefully still drunk enough not to care that Geralt’s face is obscured. Maybe he won’t know, Geralt thinks. Or if he does, maybe he won’t tell anyone. Geralt would prefer not to be stoned out of another city, especially not one as large as Oxenfurt.</p><p>“Yes, yes, I know! The one that was in the bar!”</p><p>Geralt relaxes a little. “Earlier, yeah. What do you want?”</p><p>The man laughs. “Nothing, I suppose! The fellow I was with seemed pretty interested in your, uh, guild, historically speaking. I suppose I realized I don’t know very much about witchers.”</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>Geralt wants this man to go away. He must find his way into the university sewers as soon as possible, and he certainly doesn’t have time to entertain drunk scholars, nor does he care to. So, he begins walking away in the direction of the school. Hopefully the man will take the hint and go back inside The Alchemy.</p><p>The man does not take the hint nor does he go back inside.</p><p>“Wait, where are you going?”</p><p>“I’m working,” Geralt growls, jaw tight, eyes on the ground. If he never looks up, if the man never sees his face…</p><p>“Ohh! Are you hunting something? A monster? A terrible beast that lives under the city maybe! With three heads and massive terrifying claws and a poisonous tail!”</p><p>Geralt rolls his eyes. “There’s no monster like that.”</p><p>He doesn’t know why he bothers answering the ridiculous man at all. Something about the student just screams for attention, and Geralt feels oddly inclined to give it to him.</p><p>“Okay, fine, no monsters with three heads, understood.” The student sounds like he’s pouting.</p><p>Geralt wills himself not to respond. If he doesn’t answer, the man will get bored. Geralt understands the occasional strange human’s fascination with witchers; they look mostly human but everything about them is <em>more</em> to the point of terror, and their purpose is to kill. He’s even met a few humans who thought they’d like to bed a witcher, just so they could bravely brag that they had done so. It’s all the same, a simple case of curiosity. Geralt resolves to give this man nothing. Surely he’ll fuck off.</p><p>“Ah, you’re walking towards the campus,” the man says conversationally. Geralt bristles; he’d hoped it wasn’t so obvious, but then again, the man is obviously a student, and he’d have noticed when they ended up in the same place eventually. “Wait. Fuck. You’re walking towards the campus.”</p><p>Geralt sighs. The man stops walking. <em>That’s good</em>, Geralt thinks. <em>Go somewhere else. Be safe and leave me alone.</em></p><p>Geralt keeps going.</p><p>--</p><p>Jaskier watches the witcher march dutifully in the direction of the university. The man is obviously secretive, clearly not interested in company. And Jaskier was taught as well as any child on the Continent to leave witchers the fuck alone. Witchers are supposed to be scary, he knows all the stories, but Jaskier, now sober and fascinated, is compelled by the desire to know. More than his flamboyance and wit and love for all fine things in life, Jaskier feels his most defining trait is his curiosity. It’s what led him to attend university and pursue the world rather than sit in Lettenhove and let the world come to him in tiny, broken fragments. Curiosity is what makes art into art, rather than just observation. Or so Professor Olson says.</p><p>The witcher’s mysterious, heavy energy is intoxicating. Jaskier feels like he’s supposed to go with the man who is, clearly, looking for some beast that is apparently near or inside of Oxenfurt University. Maybe he’s just caught up in whatever fascination had gripped Tarin earlier in the evening<em>. </em></p><p><em>Or maybe it’s destiny</em>, he thinks, delirious at the idea of it.</p><p>“Wait, witcher, hang on,” Jaskier calls, forcing himself into action. His buzz is all but gone, his head clear, moreso now that he thinks his classmates may be in danger. “Can I—I mean, the monster, will it hurt my friends? Is there anything I can do?”</p><p>The witcher just grunts. Doesn’t seem to even want Jaskier to look at his face, let alone have a chat. But Jaskier is a master of one-sided conversations, and so he keeps pace.</p><p>Jaskier can see the front gate to the university from where they’ve walked to—well, the witcher has walked, taking long, quick strides. Jaskier has jogged to keep up with him. Then the witcher pauses. Or maybe it would be better to say he hesitates.</p><p>“You. Student,” the man growls, voice rough and low.</p><p>“My name is Jaskier,” he answers, crossing his arms.</p><p>“<em>Jaskier</em>. You really want to help?”</p><p>“Yes,” Jaskier says, before he can question the safety or intelligence of it.</p><p>The man’s body tenses, as if bracing himself. “I need to get into the sewers underneath the university campus,” he says, through gritted teeth as though it physically hurts him to have to make a request of Jaskier.</p><p>“You can’t get into them from the rest of the sewers?”</p><p>“No, they’re closed off.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Jaskier thinks about it. Considers it carefully. Then he says, “Okay. I have an idea. Follow my lead, witcher.”</p><p>The witcher nods jerkily, and Jaskier digs into his pocket for his writ with the university seal that identifies him as a student. He holds it out to the witcher, who takes it and reads it.</p><p>“’Julian Alfred Pankratz’ is not what you said your name was.”</p><p>“It’s a <em>nickname, </em>Jaskier is a <em>nickname,” </em>he huffs, flailing his arms in exasperation. “That’s what I perform as and it’s what my friends call me.”</p><p>“We aren’t friends.”</p><p>“Fine. It’s what people who aren’t my family members call me, especially when <em>those people </em>need <em>my help </em>to get a job done, hmm?”</p><p>The witcher huffs out what could be a laugh. “Fine. <em>Jaskier</em>.”</p><p>“And what do… people who aren’t your family members call <em>you?</em>”</p><p>The witcher sighs. “Geralt of Rivia,” he says.</p><p><em>Huh</em>, Jaskier thinks. He knows that name. A lot of people know that name. But doesn’t the Butcher of Blaviken have snow-white hair, famously? Then he realizes that’s why the witcher has been wearing his hood up.</p><p>Geralt seems to take Jaskier’s silence as a bad sign and offers him the parchment back.</p><p>“I can find another way,” Geralt says. His voice is carefully devoid of all inflection; Jaskier doesn’t quite understand that part but he gets the idea that being the Butcher of Blaviken doesn’t really put people at ease.</p><p>“What?” Jaskier replies, frowning. “I told you, you need to hold onto that. Come with me, and play along.”</p><p>Jaskier bravely, in his opinion, and probably foolishly, because this man could murder him with one finger let alone his two swords and magic powers, slings one arm over Geralt’s shoulder and leans hard against him. Geralt makes a surprised noise but immediately moves to support his weight.</p><p>“Oh, I’ve had a few too many!” he says, a little too theatrically if he’s being honest with himself, and nudges Geralt to start walking to the gate and the guards there. “It’s so kind of you, friend, really, to take me back to my dormitory.”</p><p>The two guards by the gate eye Jaskier and Geralt with suspicion. Geralt hums in understanding, and drags Jaskier towards them.</p><p>“Ah, guards, my good sirs, what a looooovely evening it is,” Jaskier calls out, grinning wildly. His heart races; it’s true he’s a performer, but he’s never used his skills to do anything but entertain. The adrenaline rushes through him. He slurs his speech, thinks of Aldona slumped over against Shani, and tries to channel that level of gone. “I’m, ah, uh, whew! Have you been to The Alchemy lately? It’s lovely in there, honestly! You should visit, uh, sometime.”</p><p>Jaskier lurches forward, pulling Geralt with him. The witcher goes willingly; Jaskier isn’t under the impression that he could actually force Geralt to do anything just by pulling.</p><p>One of the guards steps forward.</p><p>“Ugh. Think I recognize you. You’re one of the bardic students, yeah?”</p><p>“Yeeees,” Jaskier says with a giggle. “Tha’s’ me! You recognize me, how wonderful! Oh, have you heard my songs? What did you think, uh, were you amazed, mesmerized?”</p><p>The man looks very tired; it’s likely he’s been dealing with genuinely drunk students all night. In fact, he looks like he very much would like to not be having this conversation at all. It’s well after midnight, and he’s probably been standing here for hours.</p><p>“Look, just show me your passes and your friend here can drag you to bed,” the guard says impatiently.</p><p>“Ohhh, the, uh, pass, the pass, where… huhhhh…” Jaskier makes a show of patting his pockets. “I lost it… Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m terribly soooorry… You know me, right? Don’t you believe me? You wouldn’t leave a man to sleep on the streets when his bed is right nearby?”</p><p>The guard’s eye twitches just slightly.</p><p>“Do <em>either of you</em> have a pass?” He snaps. “Just one pass. Something. Fuck’s sake.”</p><p>“I have it,” Geralt says, speaking for the first time. “You gave it to me so you wouldn’t lose it.”</p><p>“Ohhhhhh! That’s right! A real friend, this one, looking after me, you know...”</p><p>Geralt holds the paper out to the guard who at this point looks extremely vexed. The man barely even glances at it before shoving it back into Geralt’s hand.</p><p>“Fine, fine, whatever, just go inside, Melitele preserve me.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Geralt says, and hauls Jaskier through the door which the other guard has opened.</p><p>“Thaaank youuu,” Jaskier calls out with all the drunken energy he can muster. The guards slam the door shut behind them, and just like that, they’re on campus and alone. The grounds are deserted; everyone is either in bed or still making merry at the bars.</p><p>Jaskier straightens up and pulls away, not wanting to test Geralt’s personal space at this juncture in their acquaintanceship.</p><p>Geralt clears his throat, shifts nervously for a moment before offering the writ back to its owner. This time Jaskier takes it and puts it away properly, and then dusts off his doublet.</p><p>“My thanks, Jaskier,” Geralt says quietly. He still won’t look directly at Jaskier, and his hood is still over his head.</p><p>“Don’t thank me yet,” Jaskier finds himself saying. He’s not sure where the bravery comes from. “Don’t you still have a monster to kill? One that’s apparently <em>very</em> close to where I and my classmates lay our heads at night?”</p><p>Geralt nods and glances around the courtyard.</p><p>“There’s a grate by the far wall,” Jaskier says quietly. “I’ll show you.”</p><p>He does; Geralt follows him to where a small metal cage covers an entry into the sewers below the school. He’s heard the stories everyone tells first-year students, how there’s a beast underneath the school that eats cheaters. He doesn’t know if there’s any truth about people fudging their work on exams, but he does know that a powerful monster hunter is making strides towards the entryway, and that’s interesting enough.</p><p>Geralt pulls the hatch open and climbs inside.</p><p>--</p><p>Geralt isn’t sure what to make of Jaskier the bard, exactly. Clever, obviously, and resourceful. Good at figuring people out. Irritating and overly chatty. But moreover, the man was blatantly unafraid of Geralt.</p><p>He was ready for the sour, unpleasant scent of fear when they met, but it never hit. It was obvious by the long pause he knew who Geralt was, bloody history and all. But even then, he wasn’t scared. He was so unafraid he’d voluntarily touched Geralt, had leaned his weight on him. It was a good ploy and it had worked perfectly, but even so Geralt had been surprised by the audacity of it.</p><p>He is even more surprised now to see Jaskier sit on the grass at the top of the grate, idly picking at his fingernails.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Geralt growls.</p><p>“Huh? Waiting for you, obviously,” Jaskier replies. “You see, I’m very interested in the spirit of adventure and excitement that so obviously clings to you, witcher. I rather think, when you’re done, I’d quite like to hear the whole story. Maybe I’ll write a song about it.”</p><p>“A <em>song?</em>” Geralt exclaims, indignant. There it is again. The audacity of this man. “You cannot stay here. If it kills me, you’ll be the next closest target.”</p><p>“I’ve got the solution to that; you kill it, right? It’ll be fine. Then you’ll come back here and tell me all about it. Think of it as my payment for getting you inside. Witchers are all about fair pay for services rendered, are they not?”</p><p>Geralt fights the urge to yell.</p><p>“Fine,” he says through gritted teeth, hands tightening on the ladder down. “I give you my word, I will come back and tell you about the vampire.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s a vampire? Fascinating!” Jaskier does sound very interested, which pisses Geralt off. This is a very dangerous situation for him, and he doesn’t seem to be worried about it.</p><p>“Look, if I’m not back soon, you’re going to want to run.”</p><p>“Nice try, Geralt,” Jaskier answers haughtily. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me!”</p><p>“It will be the end of your lifetime opportunity if you’re not careful,” Geralt mutters angrily, before jumping down into the dark of the sewer.</p><p>The walls of the sewer are newer and stronger than the other sections of the city, obviously having been built more recently or reinforced with the construction of the university. Geralt is sure that there was no other way into them than this.</p><p>Distantly above, he hears what must be Jaskier singing softly to himself.</p><p>He draws his silver sword from its sheath and pulls out his bottle of vampire oil, dousing the blade with it. Then he takes his bottle of Black Blood and slides it into his trouser pocket for quick access when the fight starts.</p><p>Beyond that there’s nothing else to prepare, so he begins his trek through the sewer. The scent of congealing blood is strong enough to follow, and while he has can’t be certain its source is the vampire, he’s willing to bet he’s right.</p><p><em>If I’m wrong, and it gets past me, the bard will probably be killed, </em>Geralt thinks. Then shakes his head. There’s no room for those thoughts, not on a contract and not on the Path. Yennefer would laugh and laugh if she knew.</p><p>He follows the smell for a good twenty minutes; the campus isn’t massive but it’s large enough; fortunately there aren’t many branching paths so Geralt will be able to locate the katakan nest more easily, if not the beast itself.</p><p>Geralt is beginning to think he’s made a mistake when he finally picks up the blood trail again, and he tracks that to what must be the section of the sewer where the vampire has made its home. He peers around the corner carefully, and there it is. The beast in its true form.</p><p><em>Not a katakan, </em>he realizes. <em>A nekurat.</em></p><p>Its true form isn’t much different than a katakan, although it’s large and, Geralt knows, more intelligent. Which means the fight is going to be that much more dangerous. With a silent, resigned sigh, he slips Black Blood out of his pocket and downs the little bottle. Rule number one of fighting a vampire is that it’s almost guaranteed to bite you during the fight, and thus there’s no better way to weaken it than to let it.</p><p>The pain in his body is immediate, as if he’s set his blood aflame as his inhumanly slow heartbeat pumps it through his veins, but Geralt is expecting it and compartmentalizes it away.</p><p>Without wasting a moment, Geralt instigates the fight in earnest with a blast of Igni right in the vampire’s face. It responds with an angry shriek, immediately shifting into invisibility as it launches itself at Geralt. As soon as he sees the creature switch directions and come at him, Geralt casts Yrden, which catches the nekurat as it crosses the boundary of the Sign. The vampire screams as it is trapped in the field of magic, and Geralt swings his silver blade, catching its arm.</p><p>It screams again and leaps at him, grabbing at him rabidly with its remaining good arm, snagging his cloak and tearing it as it forces Geralt to the ground. Once the witcher is on his back it sinks its fangs into Geralt’s neck. As soon as it gets a taste it pulls away, horrible mouth stained black, body trembling from the poison it’s ingested.</p><p>With a grunt, Geralt shoves the vampire off and rolls to the side, pulling himself to his feet before he swings his silver blade swiftly, driving the sword through the monster’s belly and gutting it neatly.</p><p>The contents of its stomach spill onto the floor; oozy, half-congealed red blood mixes with the blackened blood leaking from its gaping maw, sticking to its mouthful of needle teeth like tar. It gives a shuddering cough, staring up at Geralt with rage and fear, and Geralt beheads it with another stroke.</p><p>He stands there panting with effort, shoulders heaving. He closes his eyes, gives himself a moment.</p><p>Geralt has caught the nekurat unawares, bloated like a tick from its last meal and sluggish because of it. That and his preparations made the fight quick. In Geralt’s experience, fights against vampires are always short, more about being prepared for the type of monster you’re fighting than actually fighting it.</p><p>Vesemir always taught that vampires are simultaneously the easiest and most difficult type of monster to face in combat. Among the most intelligent, all but the lowest of vampires are sapient, and they actively hunt humans unlike most other monsters, which often come up against humans accidentally or by nature of how they settle in the world. Vampires also can shapeshift, and many can turn invisible, making it impossible to kill them unless their invisibility is disarmed either by the right weapon or with Yrden.</p><p>The hardest part of fighting a vampire, however, one has to let them get dangerously close. And in such close combat, the line between a win and a loss is thin and wavering, too easy to cross. The best way to win is to poison it with Black Blood, but if it manages to take too big a bite, that’s the end for most witchers.</p><p>Geralt presses his palm against the bite on his neck; the nekurat hadn’t torn his skin too badly when it ripped itself away, and Black Blood makes the wound dry quickly. He ignores the throbbing of the wound and the background pain of the altered blood in his veins. It would have been better, he knows, to kill it before it sunk its teeth in, but it’s something he expects when fighting these kinds of monsters.</p><p>With a sigh, Geralt wipes the gore off his silver sword and slides it into the sheath on his back. Then he takes out a small fabric sack and wraps the nekurat’s head up in it, tying it with twine, and securing it to his belt before he turns to leave. Then he remembers what is waiting for him above.</p><p>He could, he knows, find an alternate exit from the sewers and sneak off the campus. Or he could just wait it out. Eventually the bard would have to go back to his dorm, or to class, or would assume Geralt died during the fight and give up.</p><p>But something in Geralt protests at the idea of breaking an agreement. And, he’ll admit as readily as he’ll admit to wanting a pastry from the bakery, he’s intrigued by Jaskier and his lack of fear of the Butcher of Blaviken. Geralt wondes what it is that makes the bard so sure that he doesn’t need to be afraid of Geralt when no other human has ever made that assumption.</p><p>Geralt sighs, mind made up against what could be better judgment, and retraces his steps back the way he came.</p><p>--</p><p>Jaskier waits for an hour, cross-legged, at the top of the open grate.</p><p>He knows he’s being foolish, putting himself in the path of a vampire, apparently, but he finds he can’t help it. As soon as Geralt had asked for his help, Jaskier had felt almost compelled to know more about the man.</p><p><em>Can witchers compel people with magic, like sorceresses? </em>Jaskier wonders. He’s not sure. He knows witchers can do other magic, like make fire. As Tarin said what seems like forever ago, there’s not much witcher history available. That said, Jaskier doubts a witcher would use magic to make someone want to follow them around and ask a million questions.</p><p><em>Come on, Geralt, </em>Jaskier finds himself thinking.</p><p>And yet he knows, somehow, that Geralt will not fail. That Geralt has placed himself between that monster and the rest of the city and will come out victorious. He must, mustn’t he?</p><p>Witchers have no emotions, or so the tales say. Jaskier hasn’t seen enough of Geralt to know whether or not he believes that. The man was cold and detached, certainly, but anyone can make themselves seem such.</p><p>He hears the clattering of someone using the ladder. His heartrate spikes; do vampires use ladders? Or do they turn into a swarm of bats and fly off and never need them? The more he thinks on it the more concerned Jaskier is about how little he knows of monsters despite them being everywhere on the Continent.</p><p>He sees long white hair first, and Geralt’s profile in the moonlight as he pulls himself out of the sewer. Jaskier notes that the man seems to be bleeding at the neck, and that he has a strong and rather fetching jawline that had been obscured by his hood before. Jaskier also sees that Geralt’s cloak is shredded and filthy.</p><p>Geralt pulls himself fully up at the mouth of the entryway and finally turns to look down where Jaskier is sitting. And that’s when Jaskier sees the man’s eyes. He heard that witchers have eyes like cats but these are no cat eyes he’s ever heard of. Geralt’s eyes are black as pitch, no whites or pupils, just a void, and the veins around his eyes and the sides of his neck are darkened and visible. His skin is pale like he’s been dead for weeks. <em>It’s like something out of a tale</em>, Jaskier thinks, mouth dry, eyes wide.</p><p>The witcher is like nothing Jaskier has ever seen, ever thought of. He’s new, and strange, and absolutely thrilling. Something stirs in Jaskier’s chest. It’s <em>exciting</em>. Captivating, even. Jaskier feels like he could write a thousand poems just about how he feels right at this very moment.</p><p>“Jaskier,” the man growls. His voice is low, scraping, almost animalistic, much more than it had been earlier.</p><p>“Geralt…?” Jaskier answers, staring. “Do, um. Your. Your eyes, are they—“</p><p>A look that might be panic crosses Geralt’s face as he jerks his head away, looking down at the grass with a tight frown.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asks. “Are you hurt, witcher?”</p><p>Geralt doesn’t answer for a moment, seems to take a deep breath, like he’s scenting the air. And then he turns back to Jaskier looking… confused? Jaskier has known the man for less than two hours and has known what his face looks like for all of maybe three minutes but as best he can judge, the witcher is surprised by something.</p><p>“No,” Geralt finally answers. “I’m fine.”</p><p>“Hmm, but it does seem… are you bleeding?”</p><p>Before he can even think, Jaskier is pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, is on his feet and reaching out with it with the intent to press the fabric to Geralt’s wounded neck. Geralt catches his wrist before he can touch, growling low in the back of his throat. Almost like a wolf. Like the one on his medallion, Jaskier notices, the silver glinting under the light of the moon.</p><p>“Do you always stick your hands in dangerous places, bard?”</p><p>“I’m afraid so,” Jaskier answers breathlessly. Geralt’s grip is strong, unbreakable. He glares at Jaskier with those night-black eyes, brows drawn, nostrils flaring. Jaskier glances between the man’s face and his firmly held wrist. He licks his lips subconsciously, considering what else that strength could do.</p><p>Geralt frowns and then releases him, pushing Jaskier back a step.</p><p>“So… so what happened? Clearly you’ve emerged victorious,” Jaskier finally says, shaking his head and putting the handkerchief away, choosing to put his hands on his hips instead.</p><p>“Yeah. I thought it was a katakan, but it turned out to be a nekurat,” Geralt replies, glancing around the courtyard like an animal scanning for threats. A few straggling students came through in the time Geralt was underground, not even noticing Jaskier as he waited, but the area is empty now, save for the two of them.</p><p>“What’s the difference?”</p><p>“Nekurats are stronger, more dangerous. But as species they’re related. Nekurats and katakans both shapeshift and turn invisible, but only nekurats can maintain a humanlike form for an extended period of time.”</p><p>Jaskier wishes desperately he had his notebook with him, but resolves to remember this conversation as perfectly and with as much detail as he can manage.</p><p>“So how do you fight something you can’t see?” Jaskier asks. Geralt’s hand moves subconsciously to his neck where he’s still bleeding sluggishly. He can’t see too well in the dark, but Jaskier is relatively certain the blood isn’t red like it ought to be. Do witchers have special blood as well? There’s so many questions Jaskier would like to ask about mutations but he doubts Geralt will have the patience for that; as it is he’s rather shocked the man came back to talk at all, regardless of their agreement.</p><p>“Its shadow,” Geralt answers, his tone denoting a response that Jaskier doesn’t understand. “It’s magic, not real, so it still casts a shadow. When it approaches, you can hit it.”</p><p>“And what did you hit it with? Witchers can make fire, right?”</p><p>“That’s one Sign we can make. It’s better to use a trapping ability on nekurats, though. With fire you get one shot, but if you trap it you get several.”</p><p>“That’s the best way to kill it then? To trap it?”</p><p>Geralt hesitates. He’s silent for a long minute, looking almost conflicted. His mouth is curved down into a deep frown, like this is a secret, or something he thinks Jaskier won’t want to hear. But Jaskier wants to know <em>everything</em>.</p><p>“I won’t put it in the song. If you don’t think people should know,” he says softly. “I can keep a secret. I’d just like to know for myself, I suppose.”</p><p>Geralt sighs. “It’s better if you can avoid it, but the best way is… you have to let it bite.”</p><p>“I don’t understand, wouldn’t that, uhh… turn you into one?”</p><p>“That’s an old wives’ tale. Vampires don’t turn people with bites. They just like the taste, and blood makes them stronger.”</p><p>“So, why then…”</p><p>“…There’s a potion. That I can make. Black Blood. It alters my blood, temporarily, to make it poisonous to monsters who would drink it.”</p><p>Jaskier feels his own blood run cold. That witchers are expected to be weaponized right down to their very blood… He knows nothing of alchemy or mutation, but the idea is both fascinating and horrible.</p><p><em>I should ask more about the fight</em>, Jaskier thinks.  <em>I should ask more about the nekurat.</em></p><p>“Does it hurt you?” Jaskier asks instead, before he can stop himself.</p><p>Geralt pauses again. Jaskier thinks this time for sure the man is surprised, but he doesn’t know why.</p><p>“I’m used to it.”</p><p>“But it <em>does </em>hurt.”</p><p>Geralt shrugs, uncomfortable. “It’s… I’m fine. And this interview’s over.” He glances around the area again and makes like he’s going to climb back down into the sewer.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“Leaving. There’s a passage out to the river I can take, and I’ll swim back to the city proper from there.”</p><p>All Jaskier can think is how very and irrationally much he doesn’t want Geralt to leave. “W-wait, Geralt, just one more question, please?”</p><p>Geralt stops and turns around. “Fine. One.”</p><p>“Why did you come back? If you could have just left from down there.”</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t know why, because he doesn’t know this man, doesn’t know the first thing about him or his world or the monsters he fights. The conversation about the nekurat has made that extremely apparent, but Jaskier <em>yearns </em>to know. More than he’s ever wanted to know anything or anyone in his life. This witcher is a mystery, an unknown, and if given the opportunity he would happily spend years of his life writing music unraveling that mystery. He doesn’t have a name for this strange, unfounded admiration, but he feels it thrumming inside him like a song.</p><p>Geralt makes that face again, the one Jaskier can’t read. Maybe, with time, he could understand it, if only he had the chance.</p><p>“I gave you my word,” Geralt finally answers. Then he pauses once more. “Can I ask <em>you </em>something, bard?”</p><p>“Anything.”</p><p>“Why were you so sure you’d be safe waiting for me?”</p><p>Jaskier laughs. “I don’t know, really! I suppose… I just felt like I could trust you to keep me and my classmates safe.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Geralt climbs down the ladder. He glances up one last time to meet Jaskier’s gaze.</p><p><em>Oh, </em>Jaskier thinks, <em>his eyes.</em></p><p>Geralt’s eyes have cleared of whatever dark miasma changed them; they really do have slitted pupils, like a cat. And they’re an unnatural, absolutely stunning yellow, brightly reflecting moonlight in the dark. Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat. <em>Beautiful,</em> he thinks. A bizarre word to apply to such a person, maybe. But it’s the only word Jaskier can think as he meets the man’s gaze.</p><p> “Farewell,” the witcher says, and disappears into the dark.</p><p>--</p><p>Geralt does swim back to shore from the outlet, and dripping wet he makes his way through the nearly empty streets to The Alchemy.</p><p>The inn is silent, all the students and musicians gone. Stjepan is behind the bar, cleaning cups and picking up the place. He acknowledges Geralt’s entry with a silent nod before returning to his work.</p><p>Geralt climbs the stairs and opens the door to his rented room before locking it again behind him. He lights the fireplace with a shot of Igni and places the nekurat head on the table by the window. Then he methodically removes his armor, glancing over it for breaks or weaknesses before cleaning it of blood and viscera and stacking it on one of the chairs. He tucks his swords beneath the bed, keeping the steel close enough to grab in a pinch.</p><p>He drapes his shirt and trousers, still wet from the river, over another chair which he pulls in front of the fire so they’ll dry while he sleeps; he puts his boots underneath the chair to dry as well.</p><p>And then he goes to sleep.</p><p>Well, he <em>tries </em>to go to sleep.</p><p>Geralt frequently has trouble with insomnia; sometimes he can ask Yennefer to brew him something, but he hasn’t seen her since her mid-winter visit to Kaer Morhen and he doesn’t have any sleep potion left from then. Plenty of nights sleep escapes him, especially during the weeks where his purse is light and the contracts are sparse.</p><p>Tonight, it’s none of that. The hunt went well, his injuries were mild. He will rest during the day tomorrow and be paid in the evening. After an extra night or two at The Alchemy he’ll move further south to Temeria, or maybe backtrack east across the mountains to visit Yennefer in Aedirn. There really isn’t a rhyme or reason to his movements; he follows the seasons, and the need, goes off rumors and messages and summons. He might end up anywhere; the Path will lead, and he will follow, as he’s always done. Nothing new to think about.</p><p>And yet, sleep won’t come tonight.</p><p><em>“Does it hurt?</em>” the bard had asked. Concerned for a witcher of all things. Geralt turns from his side to his front on the bed, as if changing his position will help. His mind is fully occupied by the unusual man he’d met. Unusual in every way. He had worried for Geralt’s pain, as if a witcher’s pain was anything other than expected.</p><p>It is true, Black Blood burns going down, and it changes his blood texture as well as its color. The abrasive nature of his altered blood makes tiny lesions along his veins as it flows at its sluggish pace, making his body feel uncomfortably hot and irritated, like he’s been burnt from the inside out. Almost sharp in the places where his veins are close to the surface of his skin, like his wrists and throat.</p><p>The first time Geralt and his brothers made the potion as boys at Kaer Morhen the lot of them screamed with the shock, curled up and pressing their hands against their faces and necks as if pressure could make it better, looking at each other wide-eyed as the veins on their faces and arms turned black just as the potion’s name implied. One boy had died, his potion brewed wrong and not corrected in time. Vesemir had watched them all, regret on his face as he did what the Trials demanded.</p><p><em>Does it hurt</em>, he thinks. <em>Of course it hurts. I was designed for this pain. Why does it matter to you that it hurts?</em></p><p>That’s the thing that’s keeping Geralt awake. He can’t understand it.</p><p>Jaskier knew what he was. A witcher, a Butcher. And he still touched him. Tried to tend to his wound with a handkerchief. Asked if it <em>hurt. </em>Never once smelled of fear. Looked at Geralt with pretty blue eyes like he was a protector and not a killer.</p><p>When Geralt emerged from the sewer to pay his dues, so to speak, he’d actually forgotten about his torn cloak and that Cat’s lingering effect on his face made him look no less terrifying than a nekurat to a human. But even then Jaskier wasn’t afraid. The bard looked at his white hair and his pitch eyes and had smelled only of sandalwood and ink and sweat. He’d trusted Geralt to keep him safe.</p><p>It was stupid, of course. One can never assume a hunt will go well even against a common threat. Even a pack of nekkers can get the better of a witcher if he’s not prepared or if their number is too great. A vampire is a dangerous foe, and the battles are always short and decisive.</p><p>But it makes Jaskier something of a curiosity and, well. Nothing, aside from an empty coin purse, motivates Geralt more than his own curiosity.</p><p>Geralt <em>wants. </em>It’s inconvenient. It doesn’t happen often. When he needs something, he goes and he gets it. But want? Difficult thing, want. It doesn’t usually end well for Geralt, wanting something. Like with Yennefer and the fucking djinn. He was fortunate enough that she eventually forgave him, that she remains in his life as someone important, a friend. But the entire thing taught Geralt a valuable lesson about keeping his legendary witcher control over whatever it is inside of him that <em>wants. </em></p><p>He doesn’t know, truly, if it’s the part of him that’s more monster than man, or if it’s the only human part of him left. But it challenges his self-control, and he doesn’t like it.</p><p>Geralt grunts, rolls over. If he can’t sleep, he’ll meditate, and that will have to be enough.</p><p>--</p><p>Jaskier rushes back to his dormitory room, hastily unlocking the door and throwing it shut behind him as he dives for his bag and pulls out his notebook. He grabs his stick of graphite and begins to write, as much as he can remember. About nekurats and their bites not turning people to vampires, about the difference between that and a—what was it, a katakan?—and about the witcher magic that can catch them when they turn invisible. And the potion. Dark Blood? No, no, it was Black Blood.</p><p>He scribbles notes as quickly as he can. And then starts to write other things he observed. He remembers the cloudless night lit the courtyard up fairly well with moonlight. That Geralt’s white hair shone brightly even in the night. That other potions made Geralt’s eyes look black as pitch, but his eyes were yellow and looked like those of a cat. In the corner of the page he sketches out a quick drawing of the wolf medallion, not that Jaskier considers himself a good visual artist by any means. He just wants to be sure he’ll remember it, if…</p><p>If he never sees the witcher again. Which is an extremely likely outcome.</p><p>The idea that he’ll never see the other man again makes Jaskier’s chest hurt. Geralt of Rivia is interesting, and mysterious, and thrilling, and, and, and—and full of stories! Of songs!</p><p>Despite the late hour Jaskier lights some candles and begins to boil water for tea. He fetches his quill and ink and begins to write out lyrics. He writes of the terrifying monster beneath the school. Of the brave and heroic witcher who came to kill it. Of the man’s calmness in the face of danger, of his strength. Of the potion that the witcher drinks to weaponize his very blood. Jaskier writes and writes until the sun begins to peek through his window. At some point, he does fall asleep.</p><p>He wakes hours later, a mostly empty mug of tea on the windowsill, his desk covered in poems and notes and ideas. Jaskier sits up in his chair, a piece of paper stuck to his cheek with drool from where he finally passed out. He grabs up the closest page and skims it, eyes growing wide as he reads.</p><p>It’s <em>good</em>. It’s <em>really good.</em> The best thing he’s written in… ever, probably.</p><p>He spends the rest of the morning organizing his mad scratchings into three piles; one of general notes and observations from the night before, one of poems and potential lyrics about Geralt’s fight with the nekurat, and one of poems and potential lyrics about the witcher himself. Opting to start with composing a song about the nekurat contract, Jaskier finds his lute where it’s leaning against the wall and grabs it.</p><p>He glances at the poetry he wrote about Geralt again. It’s good too, in its way. Jaskier is surprised with himself by personal it came out to be. Longing. Romantic, even. He’s not ready to address that. Jaskier is, after all, a man who falls head-over-heels in love in an instant, and back out of it just as fast. This feeling will fade, given a few days, he’s sure.</p><p>“Still,” he mumbles to himself, “that’s no reason not to use inspiration while I’ve got it.”</p><p>He stuffs the rest of the notes and his songbook into his bag and runs out the door with his lute to find a good place on the quad to begin composing.</p><p>--</p><p>Geralt doesn’t linger more than a night in Oxenfurt after Alta pays him and thanks him profusely for his work. He does fleetingly consider hanging around, looking for an excuse to stay in Oxenfurt a little longer. But there aren’t any other jobs for a witcher on the notice board, which is always his cue to leave. He’s got enough coin from this job to stock up on food for the road, and there truly isn’t a reason to wait.</p><p><em>Curiosity isn’t a reason, </em>he stubbornly reminds himself. He, admittedly, spent some time in the bar area of The Alchemy the night before, after Alta paid him. Just in case any students came by for more merrymaking. In case a certain student came by. A few did, but not the person Geralt won’t admit wanting to see.</p><p>(He could, if he very much wanted, enter the school campus in the daytime. He could even ask around for Jaskier. But what ever for? Oh, how Yennefer would mock him for this strange fixation if she knew. And with chagrin Geralt knows she will find out, because she always knows just what to say to get his secrets tumbling from him like an avalanche.)</p><p>So Geralt packs his things into Roach’s saddlebags, fits her again for the road. Straps his two swords to his back. Purchases what he needs early in the morning and rides out of town, south towards Temeria.</p><p>And if the witcher happens to buy a honey cake for breakfast, well, no one will know but the horse.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>More chapters will be coming soon! Please leave a comment, they give me serotonin</p><p>Amazing Devil songs featured in this chapter include: Not Yet/Love Run (Reprise)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 2. we don't know what's out there (could be wolves)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all so much for your support on the first chapter! This AU is extremely self indulgent and it was so exciting for me to see that many people are enjoying it. Your comments gave me so much serotonin and I sincerely appreciate it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The road sign indicates that the city of Oxenfurt is ten miles west. Geralt has not been there in four months, not since the tail end of winter gave way to spring, which is now becoming a hot Redanian summer.</p><p>He could go to Novigrad instead, avoid the whole business. Roach’s shoes are worn and in need of replacing, his supply of certain rarer herbs is getting low, and he has several trophies from his past few hunts that he hasn’t found any buyers for in the outlying villages. He’ll need a city for all that.</p><p>But Jaskier is somewhere in Oxenfurt, and Geralt isn’t sure if he very much would like to see the bard again or if he’d rather just avoid the whole region for the rest of the human’s natural life. Wanting is confusing, difficult, overwhelming. It’s so much easier not to. And yet Geralt finds he can’t help it, wishing to see the man again.</p><p>
  <em>(“How unlike you, Geralt,” Yennefer said with a graceful laugh during their last visit, mirth in her violet eyes as she poured another glass. “But I shouldn’t be very surprised. You don’t want much of anything in this world, but you always know what you <strong>do</strong> want right away. So what was it? Whatever was it about him that has you caught?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He wasn’t afraid of me,” Geralt said.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ah,” Yennefer answered knowingly. Her tone changed, almost sympathetic. “Strange for a human. And was he very handsome? Was his voice like a songbird?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I didn’t hear him sing,” he answered with a frown. “He said he was going to write a song about the vampire, though.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“A song about a hero saving the city from a monster. Seems like he’s got a mind for what the common people want to hear.” She smiled dangerously. “I notice you didn’t answer my other question about this man of yours.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Geralt downed the entire glass of wine, which made Yennefer roll her eyes. She never liked it when he wasted her good wine by drinking it like cheap beer, but it was easier than answering her question.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He’s not mine.”)</em>
</p><p>Yennefer is right about Geralt, though. She almost always is. Geralt knew Yennefer would become important to him as soon as they met. It’s what led him to make his foolish wish, which hurt them both, and ironically ended their romance not long after it began. The compulsion remains between them, almost like an inside joke, and they sate it by sharing a drink and sitting close and Yennefer always pulls all the words Geralt doesn’t want to share like a snake charmer. But he needs her, just the same. Their souls burn the same. She understands hunger as Geralt does. Not exactly like a witcher, but close. Kindred.</p><p>Geralt glares at the road sign, as if glaring at it will help him make up his mind. The road sign remains inanimate, but Roach tires of standing and begins to follow the road towards Oxenfurt on her own.</p><p>It’s dusk by the time they reach the city gates, and Geralt stops to ask directions to the local farrier. He leaves Roach with their stable just before the storefront closes for the night and from there makes his way to The Alchemy carrying the saddle bags. There are other inns nearby, but he likes The Alchemy just fine and sees no reason not to go there.</p><p><em>That’s not why, </em>whispers the part of his mind that sounds annoyingly like Yen. <em>He was there before. Could be again.</em></p><p>He’s about two streets away from the inn when he crosses paths with a young woman walking the opposite direction, apparently a university student. She’s got her nose in a book and she startles when she notices him, though Geralt takes care to avoid colliding with her.</p><p>“Excuse me,” she says, nodding politely, and then does a double take upon seeing his swords strapped to his back. “Melitele preserve me, you’re a witcher! <em>The </em>witcher! The one from the song!”</p><p>Geralt doesn’t know how to respond to that. There’s only one person he knows that planned to write a song, of all things, about him. And if this stranger’s reaction is any evidence, the song has indeed been written and played to some kind of audience. Her scent spikes with nervous excitement, and she snaps her book shut and shoves it into her bag.</p><p>“Ohhh, sir witcher, you have <em>no idea </em>how incredible it is to see you here today of all days. My name is Shani, I’m a medical student at the university.  I’m Jaskier’s friend.”</p><p>He nods at her in return and then makes to leave, already imagining the warm bath that awaits him in his rented room. His last bath was in a frigid river and he’s looking forward to being clean and warm at the same time.</p><p>“Wait, wait, you can’t go!” Shani darts forward, reaching out as if to touch his arm. She apparently thinks better of it before her hand make contact and pulls back, expression turning a little fearful despite her confidence and joviality. But he turns to face her anyway. “You’ve got to come to the student showcase, you’re <em>him</em>!”</p><p>“...what are you talking about?”</p><p>“You’re the White Wolf!”</p><p>“I don’t know what that means,” Geralt answers with a growing sense of unease.</p><p>“From the songs Jaskier wrote! Oh, of course, you wouldn’t have heard any of them. Just about everyone at the university has, though.”</p><p>Geralt’s blood run cold and hot at the same time, a wildly uncomfortable feeling, almost as if he’s downed a vial of Blizzard. On the one hand, apparently Jaskier didn’t forget Geralt and wrote a song after all. Multiple songs, it seems. And, apparently, gave Geralt a nickname?</p><p>On the other hand, he’s suddenly not sure what exactly the songs may have entailed and he’s starting to question his judgment from that night months ago when he chose to disclose any information about his trade to a <em>bard</em> of all things.</p><p>Geralt just stares at Shani, contemplating. Her confidence falters, and he realizes his blank stare must look frightening to a human. He attempts to school his features into a more acceptably neutral expression.</p><p>“You should come with me!”</p><p>He frowns. “Come with you <em>where?”</em></p><p>“The end of term recital! The second- and third-year bardic arts students are playing in the main hall, last time of the semester. It’s open to guests until midnight, and then you can finally hear some of his music! Haven’t you been curious how it turned out?”</p><p>Geralt tries to think of what to say. He’s torn. He wants to go to the inn, get a room, and have a bath before he sleeps. But loath as he is to admit it, he <em>is</em> curious about the music. He has wondered these past months about it, as well as its writer.</p><p>“You said he already played them.”</p><p>Shani smiles, seemingly glad he’s showing some interest. “Oh yes, but he wrote quite a few. Jaskier hasn’t debuted all of them, but he plays all his pieces for me before he plays them for anyone else.”</p><p>Geralt tries to tell if she’s implying that she and Jaskier are together. He doesn’t remember picking up her scent on Jaskier’s clothes when he’d met the bard (she smells like a combination of herbal remedy and rust and aloe), though there had been another person’s smell clinging to Jaskier’s clothes that day, faintly detectible and not particularly important at the time.</p><p>But as good as Geralt’s senses are, emotional subtlety continues to escape him. Human customs and propriety are constantly changing, and Geralt has been around for decades. Not to mention he rarely interacts with humans beyond merchants, witnesses, and employers.</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>Shani laughs, apparently amused by the non-answer. “So will you come to the event? It would be so much fun to bring Jaskier a surprise.”</p><p>Geralt hefts the saddlebags he’s holding. “I have to rent a room.”</p><p>“Well, The Alchemy is on the way to the campus. Couldn’t you just… drop your things off?”</p><p><em>I should have gone to Novigrad,</em> he thinks, frustrated. He should never have listened to Yennefer. It always ends poorly for him, but still he persists in doing so.</p><p>And yet.</p><p>Oxenfurt isn’t the biggest city, but it is quite large. Large enough that he could stay here a week and never bump into Jaskier, or this Shani woman, or any particular person at all more than once. But within an hour of entering the city he’s presented with someone who plans to take him directly to the person he most wants to see again. (Not that he’d admit such a thing out loud. Not here, anyway. Not without alcohol in his system.) All he has to do is make the choice. All he has to do is say <em>no</em>.</p><p>“Yes,” he says through gritted teeth.</p><p>“Oh good! This is great. I cannot <em>wait</em> to see the look on Jaskier’s face when he sees you again, sir witcher.”</p><p>Geralt won’t admit he’s looking forward to it too.</p><p>--</p><p>Jaskier sits on his stool onstage, tuning his lute as the second-year students wrap up their recital. Some of them have talent, a few decent poets and musicians among them. He’s just glad the senior class isn’t performing tonight.</p><p>A few months ago, he wrote a song specifically about the vampire and its killer. <em>Black Blood Night</em>, he called it, which dramatically recounted the tale of Geralt’s fight against the nekurat. Professor Olson was thrilled, praising the creativity as well as the narrative theming of the heroic witcher’s blackened blood against his silvery white hair.</p><p>The White Wolf thing came naturally upon reflection; the man wore a wolf medallion and had white hair, yes, but what really gave Jaskier the idea was how Geralt had stood on edge in the courtyard, eyes shifting like a wild thing carefully contained, the danger in his body primal and alluring. Like a wolf defending its territory, alert and ready for would-be prey. (Plus, this way Jaskier didn’t have to figure out what rhymed with “Rivia”.)</p><p>He performed <em>Black Blood Night </em>in a class workshop, and then again at another of the student nights at The Alchemy. Within two weeks it seemed half the school was humming it under their breath. He wrote a few other songs, songs with significantly less detail or knowledge, songs about fights he’d made up, but <em>Black Blood Night </em>remained the crowd favorite.</p><p>Valdo Marx was absolutely livid with envy, much to Jaskier’s eternal delight. Nothing he’d ever written had been so popular so fast, and with only one semester left before his graduation, it seemed unlikely his rival could win this final unofficial competition between them.</p><p>Tonight, however, Jaskier plans to perform one of several other pieces he started writing that fateful night. The ones about the attraction he felt towards the strong and mysterious witcher. He’s a little nervous, but his class rehearsed the performance together, all playing instruments for each other’s pieces.</p><p>He scans the crowd; Shani promised to be back from her shadowing at the clinic by the harbor in time, and he trusts his friend. Unfortunately it’s hard to tell if she’s actually present, as the room is packed with students. Aldona is sitting up front, however, smiling kindly at Jaskier, and he offers her a little wave.</p><p>“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about to begin!”</p><p>Professor Olson’s voice booms above the chatter, quieting everyone down. Jaskier swallows his nerves and focuses. The song is good. He knows it. It’s enough that Shani liked it, and she would never lie about something this important, but it’s much more personal than the others. It’s not unusual for a bard to draw from personal feelings and emotions; a bard is a storyteller and a historian, yes, but also a poet and an artist. Jaskier’s job is to feel, and to turn those feelings into music.</p><p>The room is absolutely full, every seat taken. People are sitting on each other’s laps, leaning on walls, sharing seats. He can barely see the top of the door, left open to let in the warm spring air and to keep the massive hall from getting too hot.</p><p>Two of Jaskier’s classmates play first, a pair of young ladies. One sings a rather somber song about a bird that loses its way in a winter storm. The other sings a lively jig about a Skelliger princess who falls in love with an Ofieri maiden at a ball and they run away together to dance in the moonlight.</p><p>When Jaskier takes the stage, after a congratulatory smile towards his classmates, he sits alone. Whereas <em>Black Blood Night </em>has an accompaniment of several instruments, this one uses only the lute.</p><p>“Play the one about the vampire!” someone shouts from the crowd. There is laughter and a murmur of agreement.</p><p>“Oh, but darling, you already know that one!” Jaskier answers with a broad smile. “Wouldn’t you like to hear something new?”</p><p>More laughter, and then an anticipatory silence. Jaskier takes another deep breath and begins to pluck at the strings. His song is gentle, earnest. Pleading for something that would never be, a song of longing. He plays his lute with steady hands and recalls the witcher that night, the brightness of the moon, the thrum of heated energy as Geralt grabbed his wrist and their eyes met.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>A wolf walked the streets of the city</em></p><p>
  <em>With fur as white as snow and eyes as black as night.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I saw him and thought, what a pity,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For any monster who thinks a bark is worse than a bite.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Can I help you, sir wolf? I did ask</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(And he seemed shocked I did not walk past).</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Perhaps, said the wolf, for they do not allow</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Wolves such as I to remain on the prowl.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I walked with the wolf to a dark place,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And he went down to the depths for a fight.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I waited outside hoping all against hope</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The beast wouldn’t best lupine might.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He emerged once again from the battle,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Blood stained his fur black, looking wrong.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘Sir wolf’, I exclaimed, ‘will you not stay ‘til morn?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can clean you up and then I’ll sing you my song.’</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>‘No, no, not I’, said the wolf with a sigh.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>‘I do not rest or dream or sleep,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For I have wicked things to hunt</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And promises I must needs keep’</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>They say wild things like him can’t love</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I know not if this is truly so,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But they did not see what I saw in him;</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They haven’t looked; they wouldn’t know.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Fool that I am, with eyes like the moon,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>A poet through and through,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know that I could love a wolf, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I know not if he would love me, too.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He left the very night he came</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And in missing him, this song I wrote</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And were he to darken my doorstep again</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Heedless of warning, I’d gladly bare my throat.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Jaskier sings from the bottom of his heart. He’s reflected for months on his fateful evening with the witcher. The feelings should have faded as they always do. In the four months since that night, Jaskier has had many wonderful evenings with several delightful lovers, and he’s enjoyed each of them profusely.</p><p>And yet… and yet most nights, he dreams of white hair and golden cat eyes, of black blood potions and of a man who subjects himself to pain to rid humans of their monsters who will never know or thank him. Of a man who was stoic and cold, but upon reflection, certainly not unfeeling. Of a man with a thousand stories to tell, if only Jaskier could get him talking.</p><p>So he sings of the night they met, and of the night Geralt left his life as easily as he entered it. A brief encounter, all told, but an artist does not forget a muse by absence alone. It’s foolish, Jaskier is aware, but who in all the world is going to tell the witcher that a moony-eyed bard in Oxenfurt is singing love songs about him?</p><p>The performance is met with uproarious applause; Jaskier is proud to see wet eyes in the closer rows. A song about a love that could have been is a song that people connect with, and this one is actually true. He’s pleased he can inspire emotion in others and stir their hearts with his words.</p><p>Three other students perform their pieces, and Jaskier dutifully plays the lute along with them all, even singing along when required. Professor Olson says a few words of thanks at the end, and the crowd begins to disperse.</p><p>Jaskier waits towards the front of the room, his lute safely in its case and slung over his back. A group of second-year girls approach him, and he grins broadly at them.</p><p>“Oh, Jaskier, your song was so tragic,” one of them says, pouting prettily. “How ever did you come to write it?”</p><p>“Well, I met a wolf, of course,” he answers with a wink. The girls giggle at his answer.</p><p>“But surely if you’d met a man as frightening as a beast, you would be afraid.”</p><p>“Afraid? My dears, I’m never afraid of anything that could become a song.”</p><p>They all laugh again, looking at each other mischievously. One of them, a tall and beautiful Zerrikanian woman with braided hair, gives Jaskier a slow considering onceover. He flashes his most flirtatious smile, which she returns, dark eyes bright with amusement and interest.</p><p>“Ohhhh Juliaaaaaan!”</p><p>Jaskier bristles at the sound of his birth name, but forgives its use immediately as Shani approaches with a teasing smile on her face.</p><p>“Please do excuse me, ladies, I’ll be right back,” he says to them before walking over to his friend. “Well, Shani, what did you think?”</p><p>“What a performance! It was just perfect,” Shani says, looking proud. “And as such, I brought you a gift.”</p><p>“A gift?”</p><p>Shani turns and splays her arms out as if presenting something big. And her “gift” is big indeed. Jaskier’s heart leap up into his mouth and he forgets entirely about the second-year girls waiting nearby. Because standing behind Shani is a massive, hulking man in black, a deep frown on his face, two swords strapped to his back, with hair as white as snow, and brilliant yellow cat-eyes.</p><p>“Ah,” Jaskier says, belly filling with butterflies.</p><p>Yes, he’s thought about what he would do if he ever saw Geralt of Rivia again. Beg to hear more tales? Ask to touch the scars that must be absolutely everywhere (first with his hands and then, if he’s extremely fortunate, his mouth)? Casually enquire about his deeds since their last meeting and then bid him another disappointing farewell?</p><p>He certainly didn’t envision singing his song about longing for the witcher when Geralt could hear it. Even if Geralt didn’t have an ear for music (and Jaskier has no idea what kind of ear such a man might have), it would take an idiot not to understand that the song is about the singer longing for the subject of the piece.</p><p>Shani is still smiling beatifically, looking entirely too proud of herself. Or perhaps just proud enough, for performing the seemingly impossible act of bringing the man of all Jaskier’s dreams to stand before him.</p><p>“Geralt!” Jaskier exclaims. “How—how lovely it is to see you!”</p><p>Geralt nods, expression purposefully blank just as it was when Jaskier finally saw his face. His eyes are yellow and catlike, which is how Jaskier assumes they do typically look without the potions.</p><p>“Jaskier,” he says, in that rough, low tone of his. Oh, how Jaskier has longed to hear it again.</p><p>Nearby, he hears other students titter, eyeing askance the man who so obviously doesn’t belong in their midst. The second-year girls huddle together whispering as they stare in terror at the witcher. Geralt wrinkles his nose as his eyes dart around the room. It makes him appear somewhat scary, objectively, Jaskier supposes, but he’s sure that in truth Geralt’s senses are merely overwhelmed by the amount of people, and he just isn’t comfortable with so many of them.</p><p>Jaskier wonders if all the people who say witchers are emotionless beasts just aren’t paying attention or don’t want to. Inexplicably he feels the urge to challenge every one of them to a fight for looking at Geralt in such a way. Don’t they see? Don’t they <em>see</em>?</p><p>“How long have you been back in Oxenfurt, dear witcher?” he asks breathlessly.</p><p>Geralt replies, “Only a few hours.”</p><p>“I bumped into him on my way back from clinic,” Shani explains. “Of course I knew who he was right away and insisted he come with me. I thought of course he should hear your song… Geralt, how did you like the performance?”</p><p>Jaskier glares at Shani; of course he’d always wondered what Geralt would think of the music he’d written about the man, but this particular song maybe wasn’t the best one to start with. If only because while Jaskier is quite sure Geralt wouldn’t become violent, it’s hard to know how a man like him would think about a romantic song, especially one being sung by another man, especially one that’s so clearly longing despite having met each other just the once.</p><p>“Hm,” Geralt says gruffly. “I don’t know anything about music. But… it was… good. You play well.”</p><p>Jaskier flushes, greatly pleased by the praise. “Ah, thank you for saying so! There are others I wrote, one about the nekurat as I’d said, but of course I had to write more for my repertoire, and my studies and I—tonight, this one was just loosely inspired by our meeting, of course, I never— that is, with artistic license, one never knows how one’s creativity will sprout new ideas—and it’s just a story, of course…”</p><p>“<em>Jaskier</em>,” Shani interrupts his pathetic explanation with a roll of her eyes.</p><p>“I should go,” Geralt says.  Jaskier is sure the man is uncomfortable.</p><p>“Well—let me come with you! I shall buy you a drink, if you’re staying at The Alchemy again.”</p><p>Geralt inclines his head in confirmation. “I am. But I can buy my own drinks.”</p><p>“I’m very sure you can, but please, I insist.”</p><p>Shani stands between them looking back and forth quite smugly.</p><p>“Gentlemen, I’ve got to head off, but Geralt, it was <em>so</em> lovely to meet you,” she grins broadly, and Jaskier resists the urge to smack her in the arm. Of course he told Shani about their brief meeting months ago, about his longing to know about the witcher, and about his other adjacent feelings as well. He really could kill her for this, but he’d just as soon kiss her for bringing Geralt back into his life so unexpectedly.</p><p>“Farewell,” Geralt says to her, and she smiles at him. She darts forward to press a kiss to Jaskier’s cheek before she leaves.</p><p>“I, uh… I really am glad to see you again,” Jaskier blurts out lamely.</p><p>“Hm.”</p><p>He might be imagining it, but he could have sworn the witcher’s mouth curved just ever so slightly into a smile.</p><p>--</p><p>Geralt has no idea what he expected any of Jaskier’s songs to be about, but certainly he never anticipated this.</p><p>For the entirety of the song, Shani looks conspiratory and smug, glancing between the bard onstage and Geralt. She smells like satisfaction and anticipation, though he doesn’t know why.</p><p>And yes, a part of him feels that… a part of him <em>feels</em>. It’s not a part he particularly likes, as it’s easier to lean into his training and push feelings down and away. Having them is inconvenient. It was inconvenient when he and Yennefer were together, and it’s inconvenient now as he listens to a bard he’s thought about more than he’ll ever admit sing a song that says he’d been thinking quite a lot about Geralt as well.</p><p>The night they’d met, Jaskier had been chattery, irritating, and clearly quite capable of embedding himself under Geralt’s skin like an especially brave tick. And yet… his cleverness had gotten Geralt in and out of the monster’s den with ease. And he smelled of sandalwood and ink and wine and sweat and other humans, but never once of fear.</p><p>Geralt frowns. Jaskier explains the song as artistic license. And it’s not as if Geralt doesn’t know that’s what bards do, they embellish stories and make up new ones and sing at people the things they want to hear. Surely this false romantic image of that night is a better song than “we met, he killed a monster, he left” would be. And it’s not as though he hasn’t seen all the interested men and women surrounding Jaskier like moths and a flame. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen Shani kissing his cheek and smiling at him with mischief and affection.</p><p>So Geralt does what he always does; he compartmentalizes the things his treacherous heart tries to feel and locks them up tight where they belong.</p><p>But he does, after much insistence, allow Jaskier to follow him to The Alchemy and buy him one mug of ale.</p><p>As they walk, Jaskier chatters about how the semester has gone, and about how he intends to stay on campus over the summer to work as an assistant to his professor. Halfway through this explanation he appears to get an idea and immediately changes the subject to that of his classmates’ songs.</p><p>It’s not until Geralt is seated at the back corner table, drink in hand, that Jaskier brings the summer up again.</p><p>“I’ve just had a thought,” Jaskier says eagerly. “What if I traveled this summer with you?”</p><p>Geralt resists the immediate urge to spit out his drink.</p><p>“Why would you want to do such a thing?” Geralt growls.</p><p>“Look, the story of just one of your contracts gave me enough inspiration for several songs. Good songs! Songs that people really like! Look, here…” Jaskier pulls a small notebook from the pocket of his lute case, opens it to a bookmarked page, and slides it over for Geralt to read.</p><p> Geralt looks over what appears to be the dramatic retelling of his honestly rather forgettable fight with the vampire. “Hmm,” he says. “This isn’t accurate. Nekurats aren’t harmed by sunlight. They’re just nocturnal.”</p><p>Jaskier takes the book back and says, “Ah, and that’s exactly my point! Why would I sit around Oxenfurt all summer long, making things up about monsters when I could go with you, see some real ones? I intend to travel as a bard after I graduate, and I don’t see why I can’t spend the summer doing just that. With you! And your incredible feats!”</p><p>Geralt is wildly conflicted as he looks at Jaskier. The young man’s face is flushed with excitement, and the tips of his ears are pink. He looks so very thrilled about the prospect of traveling with a witcher for a few months. A bizarre and alien desire no human Geralt ever met has felt; to be closer and not further away.</p><p><em>He’s the one who wants to come with me, </em>Geralt thinks madly. <em>I don’t have to do anything but let him.</em></p><p>But Geralt is used to being alone. Prefers to camp out under the stars with just himself and Roach. And moreover, Geralt’s life is extremely dangerous. Geralt is built to survive just about anything, but humans aren’t. Geralt has yet to ever be too slow, but only by luck. That luck could run out any moment, and it could be while Jaskier is within striking distance of a deadly monster.</p><p>Geralt realizes he’s been silent too long. Jaskier is looking at him expectantly, and seems to interpret his silence for hesitation.</p><p>“I—I can benefit you as well. Your reputation, Geralt, it’s rather shit, isn’t it? But if I write songs about your heroic deeds and sing them where we go, and they catch on, I bet people would forget about the Butcher thing. You have an image problem! I can help!”</p><p>“No,” he says, ignoring whatever it is inside him that wants to keep Jaskier close. “I don’t travel the safe roads. I fight monsters for a living, bard.”</p><p>“I am fully aware of that. Is it not my risk to take? And besides, if I’m with you, I’ll be fine!”</p><p>Geralt clenches his jaw. Fights to keep all expression off his face. The amount of unfounded trust Jaskier has in Geralt on top of his lack of fear is something wildly intoxicating that Geralt could get far, far too attached to. It reminds him too much of when he was young and stupid and idealistic.</p><p>“You seem convinced that I have any interest in protecting you.”</p><p>Jaskier smiles. “I think you do. I think you’ve got the soul of a noble champion. And that excitement and adventure are on your horizon. And I want to write it all down. Please.”</p><p>Geralt takes a deep breath, trying to control the wanting he feels. It’s irresponsible. This is a human, constantly aging, and changing, and so breakable, and rather naïve. Geralt is not noble, is no one’s champion. Despite how much he…. But no. He is no champion. He’s merely a witcher. It’s a bad idea. It’s a terrible, foolish idea. He has to refuse for Jaskier’s sake, if not his own.</p><p>“Fine,” he says instead, and even as the word escapes him he’s absolutely furious with himself for being so weak to his baser desires. “But if you come, you will do exactly as I say.”</p><p>“Pardon?” Jaskier’s bright blue eyes widen.</p><p>“When I am fulfilling a contract, you will <em>not</em> argue with me. If I say you stay behind with the horse, you will do so. If I say run, you run. If I say hide, you hide. And if I tell you something is too dangerous, you will listen to me. Without arguing. Or I will leave you behind in the first available town. Do you understand?”</p><p>Jaskier’s face lights up beautifully and Geralt has to close his eyes, throw back the rest of his drink, just to look away from him.</p><p>“Yes, yes, of course, I understand.  Oh, Geralt, you won’t regret this!”</p><p>“I already do.”</p><p>“Ha, oh, he has jokes!” Jaskier appears delighted as Geralt looks back at him again. “I like jokes. Have you heard the one about two men in a tent?”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>“Nevermind. This is going to be the best. You’ll see.”</p><p>Geralt says, “I’m leaving tomorrow, as soon as my horse’s shoes have been replaced.”</p><p>“Ah…” Jaskier frowns.</p><p>“What.”</p><p>“My semester doesn’t end for another week.”</p><p>Geralt glares across the table, crossing his arms. Despite his conflicting feelings about the other man, he isn’t pleased to be held up in any particular place, especially not for an entire week. And not only that, but he can’t afford a room for that long, not without a new contract or two, and there’s none to be found in Oxenfurt. But…</p><p>“There’s a town north of the city. Rdestowa. Be there a week from tomorrow and you can come with me for the summer,” Geralt says. “I’ll only be there for a day, unless they’ve got a monster that needs killing. If you aren’t there in time, I will leave without you.”</p><p>Jaskier nods, appearing relieved that his odd choice of summer activity won’t be denied after all.</p><p>“This will be so much better than staying here… I really prefer to travel as much as possible, but of course I can’t attend this prestigious institution anywhere else. When my time in Oxenfurt is finished I’ll be glad to see the world however I like,” Jaskier says softly, like it’s a secret. “On my own terms. Like you do.”</p><p>“I don’t see how a bard singing his songs is anything at all like a witcher swinging his swords,” Geralt replies, “but it’s your life to spend however you like.”</p><p>There’s the scent of too-sharp mint that Geralt associates with human sadness. He smells it on Jaskier now, fleetingly, even as the bard’s expression doesn’t change from looking entirely pleased. Anyone else would be fooled, but a witcher’s nose is never wrong.</p><p>“It is my life, isn’t it?” Jaskier answers. “And as for how these things are alike… I’ll have to prove it, I believe.” Jaskier gathers his things and stands. “I shall dearly look forward to seeing you in one week’s time, Geralt. I am… so very, very excited.”</p><p>Geralt sighs. “I can see that.”</p><p>Jaskier reaches across the table to shake Geralt’s hand. Geralt is reminded of the night with the nekurat, when Jaskier had reached out to touch him for their ruse, and again with a handkerchief, as if to tend the wound on Geralt’s neck. Geralt doesn’t, as a rule, like to be touched by other people. If he needs a fuck, he’ll go to a brothel. That’s it, with very few exceptions.</p><p>Hesitantly, Geralt reaches to shake Jaskier’s hand, sealing their agreement. The bard’s fingertips are rough and calloused from strumming his lute, and his hands smell like ink from writing pages of lyrics and musical notes.</p><p>“I suppose I’ll have to ask my professor to give the job to someone else,” Jaskier muses as he retracts his hand. “Have a wonderful evening, dear witcher, and I’ll see you soon!”</p><p>The bard leaves The Alchemy with a spring in his step, and Geralt waits for the door to close before covering his face with his hands and groaning, wondering what exactly he’s just done.</p><p>--</p><p>It is the longest week of Jaskier’s entire fucking life.</p><p>While the other students are preparing either to travel home for the break or to begin summer studies and jobs, Jaskier is packing his bags for adventure.</p><p>He packs, empties, and re-packs his bag multiple times. Should he bring extra shoes, or extra clothing? How much soap will he need? Should he bring a blanket? He doesn’t have a bedroll, so he assumes yes to the blanket. He wonders if he should invest in better boots for the road. He does buy some food for travel, although he doesn’t know if it’ll be enough.</p><p>His lute case is easy; he packs the instrument, plenty of ink, three brand new notebooks, quills, and graphite.</p><p>Jaskier makes his best guesses; for all he’s ever dreamed of traveling like this, he feels woefully underprepared. But it’s ten weeks, so he intends to treat it like a test run. Plus, it’s not every day your very mysterious and surly (and extremely attractive) muse shows up and agrees to spend a season with you.</p><p><em>What if he isn’t there? </em>Jaskier worries. <em>What if I get there and Geralt is long gone?</em></p><p>They shook on it. And the witcher is a man of his word. He vows not to doubt Geralt’s word. And Jaskier is confident in his ability to keep his own. The general public <em>will</em> see that Geralt is no murderer to be feared, but a protector.</p><p>He bids Shani goodbye for the season, promises to write, and takes the final version of his bag (no extra shoes, yes extra clothing, three bars of soap, yes a blanket, and yes to a sturdy pair of new boots) and sets off north towards the village Geralt named.</p><p>He leaves at first light and it takes a full day to get there, with a stop for lunch. He arrives late in the afternoon. Jaskier’s legs are tired, but he’s too excited to care. He realizes they didn’t specify where in the village they were to meet, but there’s only one tavern, and Jaskier assumes this is as good a place as any to wait.</p><p>The tavern is sparsely populated, and there is no witcher inside. Jaskier orders a drink and tries not to be nervous. He’s never traveled even this far on his own.</p><p>Three hours pass, give or take, and the sun is starting to set when the door slams open and Geralt of Rivia stalks into the room. He’s got blood on his face and in his hair, and is carrying a large sack stained red and brown. He makes a beeline for a man sitting by the window in the back.</p><p>“I’ve killed your nekkers for you,” Geralt says. “And burned their nest.”</p><p>Jaskier watches as the man, presumably the alderman, looks at Geralt with unveiled disgust. “Ah. Good, then. And you have proof…?” Geralt holds out the bag and opens it for the man to peer inside. He grimaces as he looks in before sitting back. “Fine. Here’s your pay, witcher.” The man hands over a small purse.</p><p>Very small, in fact, Jaskier notes. Geralt takes it and frowns. “This is not what we agreed on,” the witcher says, barely containing a scowl.</p><p>“You’ve only shown me one monster’s head. Not proof that the nest is gone.”</p><p>“I can take you to the destroyed nest, if you prefer. Plenty of <em>proof </em>there.”</p><p>The alderman laughs in Geralt’s face. “That won’t be necessary. Now get out of here, mutant.”</p><p>Jaskier watches as Geralt’s face remains coolly emotionless. The bard, however, is not at all emotionless, and in fact feels that he’s seen quite enough. Without thinking, Jaskier crosses the room in a few short and angry strides to get between Geralt and the alderman.</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt says, a little surprised, low and cautionary.</p><p>“My good sir,” Jaskier exclaims, ignoring Geralt’s warning and getting in the other man’s face, “did you not promise this witcher a fair rate for his killing of your pests?”</p><p>“I paid the mutant,” the alderman replies, but he doesn’t look so sure about his decision anymore. “I don’t see what about this is any of your business, stranger.”</p><p>“Ah, but you see, I’m a firm believer in people being compensated fairly for their work. Did this man not take out a scourge that was harming the village you serve as alderman? Did this witcher not kill monsters that perhaps killed your townspeople, impeded on the local farmers’ ability to work, and existed as a threat to <em>your</em> existence?”</p><p>“Well, I… yes,” the man says, quite flustered in the face of Jaskier’s assertion.</p><p>“And this witcher here put himself at great risk to rid you of this problem despite the danger to his life, yes?”</p><p>“But he’s not—“</p><p>“Not <em>what?” </em>Jaskier asks, almost daring the man to call Geralt another name. His blood is white hot with anger. He doesn’t turn to see Geralt’s expression, but he knows the man hasn’t moved an inch.</p><p>“He’s… not… I… fine, <em>fine</em>. There’s no need to make such a scene,” the alderman finally says with a pinched expression on his face. He pulls another, bigger, purse out of his pocket, dumps a pile of coins on the table and leaves without another word.</p><p>Jaskier finally turns to face Geralt, who looks back at the bard. He’s filthy, and he looks annoyed, which seems only fair.</p><p>“Jaskier,” he says. “That wasn’t… hm.”</p><p>“Geralt,” Jaskier starts, “is that how it always is? The people won’t pay you your due?”</p><p>Geralt shrugs. “Sometimes.”</p><p>“And that—that louse, that absolute fucking— no, not if I have anything to say about it. You gave them your work, they should—“</p><p>“It’s just another part of the Path,” Geralt replies. He reaches past Jaskier to grab the money and puts it away. Then he turns to walk out of the tavern, so Jaskier follows him.</p><p>“How many monsters were by the nest?”</p><p>“Hm.” Geralt thinks for a moment. “About a dozen or so.”</p><p>Jaskier glances back at the door to the tavern. “Frankly I’m impressed you stopped yourself from punching the man in the face.”</p><p>The witcher shakes his head. “That’s a surefire way for any witcher to be run out of a town. Let alone one with my reputation.”</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t reply. But he can fix it. He’s sure he can.</p><p>Geralt walks towards a trough set out front of the inn where a strong young mare is drinking water. She lifts her head at Geralt’s approach and nickers softly. Geralt reaches out to pat her neck and straps his belongings to one of her saddlebags.</p><p>“Oh hello, look at you, pretty thing!” Jaskier croons softly to the horse. She looks towards him and watches as he approaches with one hand out flat, palm up, just as the stablehands taught him at the estate as a child.</p><p>“Wait, don’t—“ Geralt starts to say, but the horse just sniffs at his hand curiously before pressing her nose against it and allows him to scratch her muzzle. “…huh.”</p><p>“Something wrong, Geralt?” Jaskier asks.</p><p>“…no.” Geralt replies. “It’s fine.”</p><p>“What’s her name?”</p><p>“Roach.”</p><p>Jaskier almost laughs; it’s a cute name for a horse, if not very strange, but Roach seems happy and well cared for.</p><p>“Let’s go,” Geralt says as he swings himself up into the saddle. Jaskier bites his tongue to hold any complaints about being on foot; he chose to come along, after all, and as long as Geralt and Roach don’t take off at top speed, it should be fine.</p><p>“Where are we going?” Jaskier asks.</p><p>“East. There’s a few villages along the way I may be able to sell the nekker guts in. They’re useful in different alchemical works.”</p><p>Jaskier grimaces at the idea of consuming anything with monster bits in it, but far be it from him, with zero knowledge of alchemy, to judge.</p><p>Unprompted, Geralt says, “You can attach your pack to Roach’s saddlebags. If you want.”</p><p>The bard looks up. Geralt’s brow is furrowed, almost like he’s not sure why he’s offered, but Jaskier doesn’t think that alone means much, all told. Geralt seems to frown a lot. He’s glad he won’t have to lug around both his pack and his lute case, so he happily ties his bag to an unused rope hook by Roach’s right flank.</p><p>“Thank you!” Jaskier says, giving Geralt his best smile.</p><p>Geralt doesn’t respond, but he does turn Roach towards the road out of town, and Jaskier does his best to keep pace.</p><p>--</p><p>Geralt doesn’t know what to make of this man who jumped to a witcher’s defense over being shortchanged. He doesn’t know what to make of this man who isn’t afraid and believes Geralt will protect him and wants to travel together and is confident he can rewrite Geralt’s reputation through song. This man who—who <em>smiles</em> at him like <em>that.</em></p><p>Geralt wants to see him all the time, keep him close and safe. He wants to run far away and never cross the bard’s path ever again. The greedy, possessive thing that lives coiled tightly in Geralt’s chest is <em>howling, </em>but Geralt keeps control over it as he always has.</p><p><em>I don’t need him, </em>he thinks, <em>and therefore I won’t have him.</em></p><p>Roach likes Jaskier, though, which is unusual. She’s pickier about people than Geralt himself, prone to biting or kicking to declare her displeasure, though she tolerates stablehands at inns.</p><p>As they make their way east, Jaskier chatters. Almost nonstop. It’s incredibly irritating and not at all what he’s used to. Geralt doesn’t give Jaskier much in reply besides the occasional “hmm” but the bard doesn’t seem to mind or even require any responses to his jabbering.</p><p>Their first night is spent under the stars. Redania in the summer is quite warm, so Geralt chooses a spot off the road secluded by trees, unpacks his bedroll, and builds a fire. He leaves Roach to graze nearby, a loose rope to keep her from running off should she get spooked.</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t have a bedroll, but he has brought a thick blanket that looks expensive, and he folds it over a few times so it’ll be thick enough to cushion him from the hard ground.</p><p>As Geralt builds the fire, Jaskier takes out his lute and checks the strings, tuning it, before strumming it idly and singing softly under his breath. Every so often he stops with a frown, jots something down in a notebook, and starts again.</p><p>Geralt told the truth when he said he didn’t know anything about music. But he likes Jaskier’s playing, and his singing voice. It’s soothing to hear him sing. Although his nearly incessant talking is already beginning to grate on Geralt’s nerves.</p><p>They share a dinner of cured meat and a roll of bread. Jaskier has a small bottle of mead that he drinks half of before offering it to Geralt. Geralt accepts it and downs the rest.</p><p>Despite his many, many reservations about the entire situation… it’s not so bad. Jaskier falls asleep first, likely exhausted from traveling so long on foot, and his soft, even breathing is almost comforting as Geralt meditates.</p><p>He watches Jaskier sleep for a time, curled up on his makeshift bedroll by the fire, entirely vulnerable, defenseless, and yet fully trusting in Geralt to protect him. To never harm him, or leave him behind in a dangerous place, or one of any of the countless horrific things humans so often say witchers do.</p><p>Geralt lays down on his own bedroll, turns away from the sleeping bard. He isn’t meant for this. Despite the madness that Jaskier genuinely seems to believe about him, Geralt is no protector. He kills monsters as he was made to do, because that’s all he’s good for. The humanity was summarily stripped out of him when he was young, and he’s been what he is ever since. How can Jaskier not see that?</p><p>
  <em> Heedless of warning, I’d gladly bare my throat.</em>
</p><p>That’s what Jaskier sang openly to the crowd of adoring listeners. And although Geralt understands that Jaskier wrote the song as a fictional story inspired by their meeting rather than an admission of the bard’s true feelings, Geralt replays that line in his head over and over.</p><p>And, monster that he is, he does, unbidden, think of Jaskier’s throat. His pale skin would bruise easily, would bear a lover’s mark so well. And he’s human, so the bite would heal slowly, would remain long enough that everyone who saw him for days would know he belongs to someone. To Geralt.</p><p>He growls and tries to think of anything else at all. This was obviously all a terrible mistake. Sooner or later, Jaskier will see what Geralt is. And he’ll leave, and go back to Oxenfurt and finish his last year of school and they will never cross paths again.</p><p>While believing this to be true, Geralt closes his eyes and his focuses on the steady beat of Jaskier’s sleeping heart. And before realizes it, he’s asleep.</p><p>They travel for two more days, Jaskier making constant conversation that Geralt barely participates in, and in the evening Geralt meditates and Jaskier reads or composes quietly, clearly trying to be courteous of the witcher’s meditations. It’s not clear to the witcher whether or not Jaskier understands just how much better Geralt is able to hear than a normal human, but he finds Jaskier’s attempts endearing and lets the matter rest.</p><p>On the third day, they arrive at a small village, and Geralt sells the nekker parts he’d collected to the local alchemist, who is eager to replenish her supply. Then, because his hair still has remnants of nekker blood in it and because Jaskier has, despite his eagerness for the road, begun to complain about wanting a bath, they get a room at the inn. It’s much cheaper than a room at The Alchemy, but Geralt and Jaskier only have enough coin for one single room and a bath. Geralt figures he’ll sleep on the floor, as he doesn’t especially care, and because then Jaskier won’t whine. The innkeeper notices that Jaskier is carrying a lute and tells him he can have a free meal on any night he performs. Bards are good for business.</p><p>As they count out the coin, Geralt notices a strange look in Jaskier’s eyes, and that sharp mint scent returns as Jaskier considers his own coin purse. It’s odd because based on both Jaskier’s appearance and his attendance of Oxenfurt University, he must come from money, and yet here on the road it seems he has next to none. Geralt doesn’t like the look in the bard’s eyes or the smell of mint. He wants Jaskier to look happy, to smell happy, even as he admonishes himself for caring about it.</p><p>Geralt surreptitiously checks the village’s notice board, and sees that there is a posting asking for help regarding a problem that seems monster-adjacent.</p><p>
  <em>There is a house in the woods that has been abandoned for some time. I’ve always been told to ignore the strange and terrible sounds coming from there since I was a child, and to ignore the dead and missing animals and occasional children throughout my life, but I found my poor sweet cat dead on the road between here and there. Perhaps some of you disagree, but I would gladly pay anyone who can figure out what it is that’s done this to Mittens and rid us of this horror once and for all. Come by the laundress’s house during business hours and I shall tell you what I know. -Vivien</em>
</p><p>“I’m going to speak to the contract holder,” Geralt warns Jaskier as they leave Roach with the inn’s stable. “You can come, but only if you <em>don’t talk to them</em>. If you talk, I’m leaving you behind.”</p><p>Geralt isn’t sure if it came down to it that he really could leave the bard, but he can’t have Jaskier interfering with his work, and the man doesn’t need to know whether or not his threat is empty. Jaskier just nods eagerly, leaving his lute in their rented room but bringing his notebook and graphite.</p><p>They make their way to the local laundress, looking for the contractor. They find her working in the back, scrubbing sheets against a washboard, up to her elbows in soapy water. She’s a middle-aged woman, hair tied up under a wrap, and she looks tired.</p><p>“Can I help you, sirs?” she asks, raising her head to look at the two of them as they approach.</p><p>“Are you Vivien? You posted a request for help,” Geralt says.  “If you have time now, I would like to hear about the issue.”</p><p>“I see… And you are…?”</p><p>“I am a witcher.”</p><p>“A witcher? Well, I’ve no idea if this is witcher’s work, sir, but if you can do something about it I’ll gladly tell you.”</p><p>“Yes, if you don’t mind. Your notice said the area in the woods has been abandoned for a long time. How long?”</p><p>Vivien tilts her head to the side, thinking on it. “Oh, well before I was born. Apparently, a local minor lord once lived there, but went away to war and then the place was just… abandoned. Except for the noises… and the poor dear little animals. Usually a goat, or a cat like my sweet little Mittens, a dog maybe, or a pig… only once a child. Told not to go to the woods, but children rarely listen.”</p><p>“Did no one petition for help after the death of a child?”</p><p>“Hmm, I’m not certain,” she says. “I was a young lady then, and my husband was courting me, so I barely noticed all else that happened in the world.” Vivien looks cheery for a moment, and then pensive again. She looks from Geralt to Jaskier who, good as his word, has not made a sound the whole conversation, despite appearing to very much want to ask about a thousand questions and smelling like curiosity so potently that Geralt has to force himself to concentrate on Vivien.</p><p>“Are you… both witchers?”</p><p>“No,” Geralt says. “He’s… a companion, traveling with me. If you’re uncomfortable—“</p><p>“Ah, no, sir witcher, it’s perfectly fine for him to stay. I just had always been told witchers worked alone.”</p><p>“We do,” Geralt answers, unsure how to explain the bard’s presence. “I will investigate this problem for you. I understand the alderman is not involved in this?”</p><p>She shakes her head. “He’s used to the… whatever it is. We all are, honestly, but…”</p><p>“Your cat,” Geralt supplies.</p><p>“Yes. Poor little dear. He kept the mice out of the house and the barn, and my son is so fond of him. Was so fond of him, rather.”</p><p>“Would it be possible for me to see the cat? It could help me determine what manner of creature is in your woods.”</p><p>Vivien pulls the sheet she’s cleaning from the water and dunks it into another basin to rinse it and then rises, wiping her wet hands on her apron.</p><p>“Certainly. My husband hasn’t buried him yet, though I’m surprised a witcher could get any information from a dead cat.”</p><p>Geralt doesn’t reply, but follows Vivien to the barn right door. Under a tiny sheet on a bale of hay is a little cat body. It is orange and striped and quite dead. Jaskier gives a sympathetic sigh at the sight.</p><p>It’s just a cat, and Vivien is watching expectantly, so Geralt doesn’t intend to open it up for a real autopsy. A quick examination tells him the creature has not been bitten, which eliminates many possible killers. Most importantly, it eliminates the possibility of wolves, which means the cause of death is decidedly what one would call “witcher’s work”.</p><p>“Ma’am,” Geralt says as he looks at the cat. “You say the home in the woods was abandoned after a local lord went away to war. Did the man have a family?”</p><p>Vivien looks surprised. “Huh! I… I don’t very well know, sir witcher. Must have done, right? He was a young man, but not so young that he might not have wed.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Geralt places the sheet back over the cat. “When did you find the cat?”</p><p>“The other morning.”</p><p>“Have all the animals been found in the morning? And the child?”</p><p>“I… I believe so? I’m not entirely certain.”</p><p>Geralt nods. “I will return with an answer,” he says, nods courteously to Vivien, and leaves the barn with Jaskier in tow.</p><p>He begins the trek to the house in the woods. It’s nearby enough that he opts to leave Roach and go on foot. Jaskier has been so quiet that Geralt would forget his presence, if not for the bright scent of curiosity permeating the air. But as soon as they’re out of earshot of Vivien, that changes immediately.</p><p>“What a mystery!” Jaskier exclaims, sounding delighted. “Do you have an idea? What did you learn from the cat? Why did you ask about the dead lord’s family?”</p><p>Geralt sighs. At least he kept silent during the conversation. “The cat wasn’t killed for food. Something killed it because it wanted the cat to die. Something that kills primarily at night, and is territorial. Something that lives in an abandoned home.”</p><p>“Ohh… so… umm… a ghost? Are ghosts real? Do they want to kill things?”</p><p>“I can’t know until I see the house,” Geralt replies. He usually likes to discuss his observations out loud to Roach; he finds it helpful to hear himself work through contracts. He’s not sure how he feels about talking to someone who can answer verbally.</p><p>They arrive at the house in the woods around midday; it’s a medium sized mansion, with a barn and a servants’ house and a small courtyard with a decorative fountain. The place is a ruin, overrun by ivy, foundation cracked and wood rotted out. The place has clearly been ransacked by bandits, possibly more than once. All the windows are smashed and all the doors are broken open. Jaskier stays right behind Geralt, looking around with wide eyes, notebook clutched against his chest.</p><p>Geralt starts by checking the barn; it’s empty, nothing inside it but the remains of moldy hay and a thick layer of dust. There’s a supply cabinet that’s been torn open, toppled, emptied, and left on the ground.</p><p>He goes to the servant’s housing. There are rows of beds, some of them still have pillows or blankets, but most are bare. There are a few opened armoires that look like they were emptied in a hurry. And on the floor near one of the small bedside tables, a little diary remains, left behind by someone long ago. Geralt opens it and reads the final entry.</p><p>
  <em>Today, Madam Elsa told us all to go. She paid us severance and sent us all away. She even ordered the stable boys to take the horses and the sheep when they left. She doesn’t want anyone here anymore. I can’t understand it. Why would she want to make herself even lonelier? But she won’t let me into the bedroom anymore to change the sheets or clean the shelves. Madam Elsa hasn’t gone mad, I don’t think, but she is lost in her grief.</em>
</p><p>It’s close to what Geralt suspected. He’s seen it before. A lover left behind, loses their beloved in war, never learns of what happened to them, and dies of grief. It’s a sad tale, but with a dangerous consequence—many a wraith has arisen from such a victim of fate.</p><p>“Come on,” Geralt says as he replaces the journal where he found it and makes his way into the main house.</p><p>All the finery, the fine silverware and porcelain dishes and anything else that might at some point have had value, all of it has been taken. The interior of the house is just as desolate as the exterior. He hears what are probably rats down in the larder, but nothing else nearby except for Jaskier, who is so uncharacteristically quiet that Geralt actually turns to look at him.</p><p>The other man’s face is pale, and he’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks around. Geralt scents the air; Jaskier isn’t scared, but he is anxious.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Geralt asks. He thought eventually something would frighten this human away, though he hadn’t anticipated it being so soon. It’s better though, isn’t it, if he leaves? But Jaskier just nods, giving Geralt an uncertain smile.</p><p>“Oh, yes,” Jaskier replies. “I was just thinking, what a sad state this place is in. There’s a big table in the dining room; whoever lived here must have had company often, and loved ones to eat with once. And now…”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>Geralt understands; places like this are common on the Path, little tragedies forgotten by everyone except whoever is unfortunate enough to remain nearby. It bothered him once, he thinks, when he was very young. Now it’s merely the scene of an event that he must pick apart. One abandoned home is the same as any other after a time.</p><p>He returns to his work. There is a thick layer of undisturbed dust over everything, so clearly the place was looted ages ago and not even criminals have come near it since. Which means that the wraith didn’t appear right after death. Curious. That, or he’s about to find a lot of corpses. Either way. Geralt takes the stairs to the second floor and turns a corner into what must be the master bedroom.</p><p>The room is dark, despite the time of day, because there are sheets over the windows. The bed is stripped to the mattress, and much like the rest of the property, all the valuables have been taken long ago.</p><p>Geralt lets out a hum as he looks around the room. There’s a crumpled paper next to a book, and he goes to investigate both. The book is one of love poetry, and as Geralt lifts the dusty tome from its place on the dresser, a pressed flower slides out of it.</p><p>“A forget-me-not,” Jaskier says, kneeling down to pick it up. It’s delicate, but he handles it very gently so as not to break the dried-out bloom.</p><p>There are a few more forget-me-nots between various pages of the book, which Geralt puts back. He reaches for the crushed parchment and smooths it out carefully. The corners of the paper are yellowed and it’s fragile like the flowers themselves.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>My darling,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know now you will never return to my side. I held out hope for many a year, dreaming of the day we would be together again on the spot on the hilltop where you first proposed. But the war ended, and you never returned to me. I cannot fathom the suffering of a soldier on the field—only the suffering of a wife left behind. I know when you left, you told me to forget you, should you not return. But I loved you then. And I love you now. And I cannot forget even a moment of the time we spent married here in this house. Nor do I want to.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I have sent the staff away; they are good people who have cared for me in my grief. I am tired, and we never had any children of our own. I gave them the last of the coffers and sent them on their ways. I pray they will find good work wherever it is they go.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My dear love, how I miss you. Terribly, fondly. You wouldn’t believe how much I love you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know it’s a foolish thing to write a letter to a dead man. But you must forgive me my oddities, as you always have. I know I shall be joining you soon, beloved.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours in memory and in heart,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Elsa</em>
</p><p>It’s the tale of a woman who loved a war-lost husband enough it broke her heart, that she couldn’t survive it. But Geralt is a witcher. And this doesn’t solve the mystery of what’s in this house killing whatever wanders too close.</p><p>“What’s it say, Geralt?” Jaskier asks, still looking at the flower he’s holding like it knows a secret. Geralt wordlessly passes the letter to him and returns to the hall, looking for the one thing he hasn’t yet found. Jaskier stays behind, and the witcher smells sadness and pity wafting off him. He doesn’t blame Jaskier for it; it’s not a happy story, after all.</p><p>There’s a guest bedroom, which is untouched and covered in a layer of dust. There’s a closet and an office, equally unused.</p><p>Geralt finds what’s missing in the library, though not as he anticipated.</p><p>There is a body. There are, actually, two bodies.</p><p>Both are reduced almost fully to bone, one dressed in a nightgown, and the other in cracked, broken armor. The armored body is embracing the one in the dress, which, based on the level of decay, died a while before the one in armor.</p><p>He assumes this is the wife and her war-lost husband. And yet, it seems, he did come home after all.</p><p>Geralt knows about war, although he is no soldier or knight, and he serves no country or king. He knows that oftentimes, an army loses track of its men. Forgets to send a letter home, or a body. Loses count of the prisoners of war, locked and chained by an enemy nation.</p><p>The state of the body and the series of poorly healed breaks in the exposed bone tell Geralt all he needs to know. The man had been a prisoner, finally found his way home to his beloved wife, only to find her dead from missing him. They both died young, filled with grief at the loss of the other.</p><p>It also confirms Geralt’s suspicions about the monster. A wraith. Likely a nightwraith, given the circumstances. He had suspected the wraith had come from the wife, but it seems as though it’s the husband. Wraiths come about from tragedy, from loss, from longing. Geralt doesn’t generally feel any of those things anymore but he understands them well enough. So he knows what must be done.</p><p>The bodies must be buried together, husband and wife, reunited in death as they misfortunately never were in life. And the letter must be burned, to draw the monster out. His wife’s final gift to him—her love, unrelenting and unbroken.</p><p>He returns to the bedroom to get the letter and finds Jaskier still standing there holding both the letter and the flower, eyes watery.</p><p>“Come on,” Geralt says. He attempts to be gentle, but has no way to know if he’s succeeded.</p><p>“Well,” the bard replies, “do you know what it is?”</p><p>“A nightwraith. We have to move. I only have until sundown to prepare, and I have to kill it before midnight when it reaches the height of its strength.”</p><p>Geralt sets about the task with grim determination. The bodies are deteriorated, not fit to be moved, so he tears down one of the sheets from the window and wraps the bones together in a roll and carries it all down the stairs and out to the yard. Then he begins to dig. He’s used to the work; Geralt buries bodies and trinkets and the like often. What he’s not used to is the bard, in his fine clothes and his clean, calloused hands, falling to his knees across from him and helping him dig.</p><p>Geralt looks up once as they work; Jaskier is focusing on the dirt as they move it, sweating with the effort in the heat. Jaskier has removed his doublet to keep it clean and rolled the sleeves of his chemise up to his elbows. His face is drawn, determined, and he still smells of deep, unyielding sadness.</p><p><em>I should have said no, should have left him in Oxenfurt,</em> Geralt thinks. <em>He shouldn’t be here.</em></p><p>And yet, the work goes faster with two. Jaskier isn’t as strong or quick as the witcher, but his contribution gets the grave dug deeply enough sooner than it would have alone.</p><p>Geralt lowers the bodies into the open grave carefully, and it takes very little time at all to push the dirt back into the hole, encasing the poor married couple in the cool earth. Geralt marks the grave with a large stone from the garden.</p><p>“What now? It’s gone?” the bard asks, wiping his forehead with the back of a hand, smearing dirt across his face.</p><p>“No,” Geralt says. “Now I burn the letter.”</p><p>“Why the letter?”</p><p>“Because it told him that she died for him. I have to burn the letter and draw out the wraith. It’s formed of his misery and his loss, but it’s trapped here. It has to be killed.”</p><p>“Oh,” Jaskier says quietly. “Can I…”</p><p>“It will come after me, because I will be burning the letter. <em>You</em> will hide.”</p><p>“But—“</p><p>“You agreed, bard,” Geralt growls. Jaskier frowns but relents, crossing his arms.</p><p>Geralt prepares his sword with specter oil, which Jaskier watches with fascination and asks too many questions about. Just as the sun begins to set, Jaskier goes inside the servant’s house (and watches out the window, though he seems to think Geralt can’t tell) to hide. Geralt sits on the ground as if he’s about to meditate, then sets the letter aflame with a blast of Igni.</p><p>It’s a single piece of old parchment, and it turns to ashes almost instantly, reduced to nothing. Geralt closes his eyes. Slows his breathing. Slow, slower, until he’s barely moving at all. Focuses on his heartbeat, so much slower than a human’s, like an internal metronome. He focuses on what he can hear, what he can smell and taste.</p><p>On his tongue there’s only smoke as the letter’s remains smolder in the dirt. He hears distantly the sound of cicadas awakening in the cooling summer evening. He can smell the fire, the turned earth of the fresh grave, he smells sweat (his own, and Jaskier’s) and forest foliage and—</p><p>The air grows cold around him. Eyes still shut, Geralt reaches to draw his silver sword. There is a terrible wheezy rattling, and Geralt’s eyes snap open. He slams an open palm into the ground, casting Yrden and leaping up, sword pointed ahead.</p><p>He hears it before he sees it and spins on his feet to the side as the wraith throws itself at him, swinging wildly as it misses him and then screaming as it’s snared in the trap.</p><p>It trembles, caught, and Geralt swings at it as it shrieks. As the Sign fades and the nightwraith is freed, it lunges at the witcher again, but Geralt is ready, and he catches the thing with the sword, aiming at its magical core.</p><p>The thing about wraiths is they’re not corporeal. They cannot be stabbed, or sliced, or cut. They don’t have a real body, they’re just magic powered by sorrow and given shape. Their attacks are painful, though, as one might expect, and Geralt dances out of the way of another attack as the creature retaliates.</p><p>The smell of its sorrow is overpowering, coming off the wretched thing in a deluge of grief interlaced with the white-hot metallic burn of anger.</p><p>A wraith cannot be cut, but it can be destroyed. It’s a monster, and so silver harms it just as it would harm a rotfiend or a ghoul. The magic can be destabilized, and without the unburied body and the letter to anchor itself, the wraith will vanish without being able to revive.</p><p>Geralt rolls out of the way of another swing of the monster’s claws, and casts Yrden on the ground again. The monster slams into him and sends him reeling, but it’s caught once more in the trap and Geralt recovers quickly, bringing his silver blade down through the wraith. It screams, and it writhes, but it cannot escape, and Geralt blasts it with Igni before he moves to cut at it again.</p><p>No longer able to retain its form, the wraith lets out a mournful wail. Cold wind roars off it as it screams, and Geralt braces against it. And then the nightwraith is gone.</p><p>All that’s left of it is the memory.</p><p>--</p><p>It takes three weeks to get to Dol Blathanna.</p><p>The three weeks are interspersed with a few contracts, all minor according to Geralt, though as all monsters appear quite dangerous to Jaskier’s human eyes, he has to take the witcher’s word on that. They mostly camp, with fewer towns in this region. Jaskier eventually has to buy a proper bedroll.</p><p>He’s written a few little tunes, but nothing truly special, nothing that will take off.</p><p>They sit around the campfire one night in a forest clearing in eastern Aedirn. Geralt is repairing a broken strap on Roach’s saddle. Jaskier is strumming the melody he’s been working on since Geralt killed the wraith.</p><p>Geralt’s hands slow on the soft leather, the awl stilling in its movement as he listens. Jaskier can’t always tell if Geralt is actually paying attention, but he’s pretty sure Geralt likes this one. He often slows what he’s doing when Jaskier works on it.</p><p>Jaskier has had almost a full month now to observe Geralt, and he feels he’s getting a little better at reading the other man. Geralt keeps his face blank and expressionless on purpose; it’s a mask, not a hint at what’s under it. The witcher has plenty of expressions, and Jaskier has delighted in learning each one he’s managed to see—annoyance is common, which is fair, given Jaskier’s tendency to talk through every thought he has when he isn’t composing. But there’s more, much more.</p><p>The thing Jaskier best likes is Geralt’s smile. He doesn’t see it much but sometimes he’ll tell a particularly good joke, or an absolutely ridiculous story, or just spit out a blatantly wrong fact about a monster or the world (and those ones aren’t on purpose but the sting of embarrassment is greatly soothed by that look on the witcher’s face), and Geralt’s mouth will curve up quite beautifully, occasionally even with a flash of teeth as he turns his face away to hide it. And Geralt’s laugh, Jaskier muses, wouldn’t really be called a laugh by any normal standards. It’s more of a quick huff, an exhale through the nose, lips twisted with mirth, yellow eyes alight.</p><p>Jaskier knows it’s best to let sleeping wolves lie, and all that, so he never mentions it. He’s sure it would only make Geralt uncomfortable, and he’s aware his presence on the Path is uncomfortable enough. Geralt has given an astonishing amount of leeway to Jaskier, and the bard has no idea why. Especially given that he has yet to come up with any real solution to Geralt’s reputation issues.</p><p>“…<em>And in years to come, you’ll wander to the place up on our hill</em>,” he sings softly. ”<em>And then you’ll cry to a painted sky, ‘I loved him then, I love him still’…”</em></p><p>There. The corner of Geralt’s mouth tilts just slightly up, barely noticeable across the fire, but it’s there. And then his strong hands are moving again on the leather, eyes half-lidded as he listens to Jaskier’s music. It’s a soft, sad little song he wrote about Elsa and her husband. A memory carried on in song. A memory of almost, of nearly, of not quite. A memory of flowers pressed in books of poetry and letters written to the dead. A memory that, if not for the song, would be lost to all but the witcher sitting across the fire listening to Jaskier’s voice.</p><p>“<em>And you’ll strew some sage and lilies, and roses where I rot. Of all the flowers you picked… I knew you would forget forget-me-nots.”</em></p><p>--</p><p>Posada is a tiny nothing town at the edge of the world, with a dingy little tavern full of people who want nothing to do with witchers at all. Not even Jaskier’s charming, irritating insistence could convince the barkeep to rent Geralt a room, which is fine, because they’ve only stopped here to stock up on more food for the road before turning south to Lyria.</p><p>Except there’s a farmer with a sack of coin and a problem, and Geralt can rarely resist either, let alone both, so he takes the job even though he’s well aware devils are not real and something else is stealing the crops from the fields. If the humans of Posada choose to believe it’s a devil, so be it.</p><p>The bard proceeds to proudly spout nonsense about the elves—well, Geralt supposes that’s not fair. What Jaskier says is mostly propaganda, purposeful and insidious, disseminated to schools to share with the intellectuals and scholars. And what student at Oxenfurt wouldn’t believe their wise professors when they say the elves left the world to the humans on purpose?</p><p>“The elves left the land to the humans and went up to live in their golden castles,” Jaskier says brightly, fingers picking at the strings of his lute. “I do wonder why no one has ever seen one of the castles though. And why there are elves who aren’t satisfied with them. If I had a golden castle, I think I’d be more than happy with it, don’t you think? Geralt? Are you listening to me?”</p><p>He lets Jaskier’s chatter distract him, though. A mistake he’s never made. Geralt is a witcher, trained to be silent, observant, thorough in all investigations and battles. And yet the sylvan gets the better of him, and then he’s overwhelmed by the elves.</p><p>He awakens as a prisoner, Jaskier bound against his back as Filavandrel and his people decide whether or not to kill them. Naturally, the bard runs his mouth and antagonizes their captors, believing with his whole heart that Geralt will still be able to protect him even now. He mocks them in Elder, and Geralt is a little impressed Jaskier knows any of their tongue, but it doesn’t serve him well. It angers one of the elves in the room, and she stalks over after the insult.</p><p>Jaskier is afraid. Geralt smells it on him, and feels his bound hands shaking where they’re pressed uncomfortably against his spine. A nearly imperceptible shudder ripples through the bard as the elven woman approaches, and she glares at him, yells at him for his ignorance, before she strikes him in the chest and then hard across the face. Jaskier cries out in pain and surprise when she hits him, and the scent of terror spikes and leaves Geralt dizzy with it.</p><p>“Leave off! He’s just a bard!” Geralt snarls at the woman, trying to turn to look at her. She hits harshly but she’s weak, too skinny. <em>Starving</em>, Geralt realizes. All the elves here are starving. That’s why the sylvan was stealing grain for them. That’s why they came this close to the humans of Posada. Because they had to eat something.</p><p>She does cross the room, but only to break Jaskier’s beloved lute in two. The bard gives an alarmed yelp at the brutal cracking sound, strings pinging</p><p>discordantly as they snap.</p><p>“Hey! That’s my lute!” he shouts, fighting against the ropes to no avail.</p><p>“You won’t need it,” the woman jeers back before staggering a little, too weak to keep up the pretense of strength.</p><p>Ultimately, Filavandrel decides to let them go, and the elf king gives Jaskier a beautiful new lute as a gift in return for Geralt gifting them his payment for the would-be devil contract. He hopes it will allow them to get food and medicine that they need so desperately. Jaskier writes a song about the whole thing, and Geralt hates it.</p><p>“What happened to your newfound respect?” Geralt growls from Roach’s back once they’re on the road again.</p><p>“Respect doesn’t make history,” the bard replies. His voice is calm and sure and a little sad.</p><p>It shouldn’t have been the way Jaskier learned the idealized lie he’d been taught was a fiction. That there is no honor among kings, that humans came to this world to take and take and take. It’s an important lesson to learn if one plans to walk the continent singing people’s feelings back at them. But it shouldn’t have been like this.</p><p>What Jaskier sings is another lie, another retelling of history. The nekurat song is full of dramatism and falsehoods too, embellishments and artistic license. But that is about a monster in a sewer. Not a people who were pushed to the far end of extinction.</p><p>So, Geralt hates the song.</p><p>When Jaskier starts to sing it, Geralt is reminded of the bard’s bright-eyed trust in Geralt, his belief that Geralt would keep him safe from harm. As they make their way back to the tavern to inform the farmer that his land is safe, Jaskier strums the new instrument. He has a gash on his forehead and a split lip from when the elf hit him, and bruising around his eye. But it’s not the injuries that make Geralt angry. Jaskier had been <em>afraid</em>, so afraid, trembling and tied and threatened with death.</p><p><em>I should have noticed the sylvan, </em>he thinks. <em>I should have been paying attention. This was a mistake.</em></p><p>And of course, the people of the Continent <em>love </em>the fucking song. Jaskier plays a rough version of it as soon as they arrive back in Posada, and the tavern (which had previously been <em>very </em>unwelcoming to both witcher and bard) is uproariously clapping and singing along with the chorus by the second time he sings it. A man buys Geralt a drink in thanks for killing their hated elven enemy. The barkeep begrudgingly apologizes for his previous slight<em>.</em></p><p>They cry out in excitement for the White Wolf, a folk hero that Jaskier has invented, and their eyes fall on Geralt and they see the man the lively bard sings of.</p><p>Jaskier stays and performs a few more songs for the eager crowd, singing others he must have written at the school along with some regional favorites. He doesn’t sing the song Geralt heard at the recital.</p><p>Geralt sits in the corner and drinks and avoids eye contact with Jaskier as he performs. He does look, however, when the bard is turned away. He’s in his element, practically glowing with excitement, a genuinely excellent performer, not that Geralt is a good judge of that, really. But he can see that Jaskier holds the undivided attention of everyone in the tavern, that people are smiling and laughing and singing and some even begin to dance. The hair at the nape of Jaskier’s neck curls with sweat. His bright blue eyes shine with delight. He looks gorgeous, and the witcher has to turn away.</p><p>Geralt finishes his drink and rises from his seat, making his way to the door. A few patrons of the tavern notice, murmuring to each other, but he ignores it.</p><p>He can still hear Jaskier playing from outside, and it has grown dark by now, the sky full of stars rising over the mountains. Roach nickers at him gently as he approaches, pushing her head at his own.</p><p>“Don’t start,” he murmurs, scratching her nose. She lets out a huff of air, almost disapproving.</p><p>“This is just for the summer. You know that,” he continues. “You <em>know</em> that.”</p><p>From inside, he hears the music end, and raucous applause that dies down into loud conversation. Then the door to the tavern is opening.</p><p>“Geralt! Hey, Geralt, where’d you go?”</p><p>Geralt turns to see Jaskier stepping out the door, looking around frantically. He calms when he sees Geralt and Roach and grins at them before rushing over, the strap of the lute holding it to his back not unlike Geralt’s swords on his own.</p><p>“I think that went rather well, don’t you?” Jaskier asks breathlessly.</p><p>“Hmm,” Geralt replies, turning to check the latches on Roach’s saddlebags. The straps are fine but Geralt needs something to do with his hands. “They seemed to like it.”</p><p>“No, no, Geralt they seemed to like <em>you.</em> Didn’t you notice?”</p><p>Geralt noticed, yes. It was baffling that one exuberant bard’s ridiculous songs could make such a difference. But then, he supposes that’s the point of music, to tell people how to feel about some things as well as to validate how they feel about others.</p><p>“They like the person in your song,” Geralt corrects. “It just so happens you’ve made him look like me.”</p><p>Jaskier shakes his head. “Wait, no, that’s—“</p><p>“I am no one’s champion, Jaskier. I’m just a witcher.”</p><p>Jaskier frowns, dips his head down to break eye contact. Geralt’s eyes focus on the wound on the bard’s forehead, on the obvious disappointment in his pretty blue eyes.</p><p><em>My fault, </em>he knows.</p><p>Without thinking, he reaches out to cup Jaskier’s jaw, to tilt the other man’s face up to look at him again. Jaskier’s face shifts through several unreadable emotions. Geralt brushes his thumb over the edge of the bruise on Jaskier’s cheek, and he stares at the injuries as the overwhelming scent of Jaskier’s desire hits him like a cloud, smelling of maple and hot cider and melting butter.</p><p>The scent brings him back to his senses; this isn’t how it should be. Jaskier is young, and a human, a bard, a student, full of vivacity and love and <em>feeling</em> to an overwhelming degree, far too much for Geralt to understand. Geralt doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t get to have this. Jaskier should save it for someone more suited to him.</p><p>He releases Jaskier and abruptly turns away. When the summer is over Jaskier will go back to Oxenfurt and Geralt will steer clear of the city for a year or two until he’s graduated and gone off into the world, where he will never cross the witcher’s unfortunate path again.</p><p>It’s what’s best for them both, in the end.</p><p>--</p><p>Jaskier sings <em>Toss A Coin To Your Witcher </em>in every town they pass through. He even meets a troubadour who asks permission to sing the song as she travels from court to court, to which he enthusiastically agrees, teaching her the chords and the lyrics over a meal.</p><p>(And if the lesson goes into the evening and they happen to fall into bed together, well, Geralt is out killing a kikimora or whatever anyway and these days Jaskier gets far fewer opportunities for intimacy than he’s used to.)</p><p>The days stretch on and on, and though nothing nearly as exciting or terrifying as their brush with Filavandrel and his people happens, the summer is the best of his life. Even though once Geralt returns from a dangerous fight with a massive gash across his back and Jaskier must attempt to sew it up with shaking hands and uneven stitches. Even though once Geralt begrudgingly agrees to get a room for the night in a small town but no amount of Jaskier’s angry insistence can convince the innkeeper to rent a bed to a witcher. Even when there are summer rains, and they have to huddle beneath a tree to try and stay dry. (Even though he wishes Geralt might come to care for him as he has come to care for the witcher.) Even though his feet ache from the walking, and he doesn’t bathe nearly as much as he wants and he dearly misses the delightful company of a lover more nights than not. Even though Geralt is often distant, and obviously increasingly irritated with Jaskier, and frequently dismissive. Even with all that… it’s just the best.</p><p>Because for all that, there’s also the peace of many evenings by the fire, bellies full of roast rabbit, Jaskier strumming the beginnings of a new composition, Geralt being paid fairly and without argument by those who have heard the song, interesting mysteries to watch the witcher solve, dozens of ventures to dozens of places Jaskier has never seen before, the truths of all kinds of interesting and terrifying monsters, the rare and thrilling moments where Jaskier can get the witcher to smile, moments where Geralt lets down his guard and allows Jaskier to know him a little better…</p><p>Jaskier fills the empty notebooks he brought with him with ideas and notes and has to buy a few more on a market day in Vengerberg. He writes song after song, though none become quite so popular as <em>Toss A Coin</em>, and Geralt seems genuinely surprised by the new reception to his presence.</p><p>But the summer comes to an end, eventually.</p><p>They part ways in a small town south of Oxenfurt, just on the other side of the Pontar. Geralt heard rumor of a rock troll problem in Sodden, and will circle back that way to investigate.</p><p>“Well, Geralt,” Jaskier says, feigning cheerfulness as he shoulders his pack and the lovely elven lute. “It has been a truly unforgettable summer, and I know not how I can ever thank you for indulging me.”</p><p>Geralt hums, face neutral, but by now Jaskier is familiar with him, knows how to read the stoic witcher. He thinks the other man seems at least a little gloomy to be separating, though that’s probably just wishful thinking on his part.</p><p>“Be careful getting back to the city,” is what Geralt comes up with.</p><p>“I will. Will you, err… be coming to Oxenfurt again soon?”</p><p>“Not likely,” Geralt says. “I’ll be going south from Sodden.”</p><p>“Ah, I see.” Jaskier frowns, biting his bottom lip, trying to come up with something to say, anything to prolong the inevitable loss. He loves attending school, and being in a city where he has a bed and baths every night, and he loves being with his friends, and he loves having so many people around all the time but… he’s grown used to this, to quiet nights under the stars across the fire from Geralt. Used to Roach and the constant walking, used to plying Geralt for details on hunts he hadn’t been allowed to attend, to observing Geralt as he investigates a problem.</p><p>It isn’t like their last parting, with Geralt disappearing into the night. Geralt is familiar now, his friend, his muse, not to mention… well, Jaskier thinks Geralt has been very polite in not drawing attention to his obvious and foolish attraction to a witcher of all things. Of course the first time in Jaskier’s life the sudden and sharp burn of love hasn’t melted away over time and it’s for a man who might not even know <em>how</em> to love.</p><p>Well, at least an aching heart makes for good ballads, he supposes.</p><p>“I <em>will</em> see you again, won’t I, witcher?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Geralt replies stiffly, as though he knows full well he won’t and he’s going to make it so on purpose.</p><p>Jaskier deflates. He hoped Geralt liked having him along to some extent. Enough that maybe he’d let Jaskier come along again. For longer, maybe after he graduates this final year of schooling. Sure, Jaskier dreams of playing courts and cities and poetry competitions and music festivals. But in between all that? He just wants this.</p><p>“Travel safely, Geralt,” Jaskier tells him, voice soft.</p><p>Geralt says, “Goodbye, Jaskier.”</p><p>The witcher leaves. He walks to where Roach is waiting, settles himself in the saddle, and rides off without looking back even once. Jaskier stands and watches until they are a speck in the distance, until they are gone entirely.</p><p>He thinks about how it must have felt for poor Elsa, watching her husband leave for war without knowing if she’d see him again, vowing to keep his memory safe in lieu of being able to protect the man himself.</p><p>Jaskier has learned from his professors that the world is full of great big stories that alter the course of history. Wars and coronations. Heroics and heartbreak. And those stories are all well and good, in Jaskier’s opinion. People love to hear great epic ballads about such things.</p><p>What they don’t teach at the university, and what Jaskier has learned over the course of the summer, is that the world is also full of tiny little stories that don’t matter much to anyone. But if you can give them a tune, they are always worth the singing.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The alternate title for this chapter is "Jaskier's Hot Girl Summer". Please yell at me about it in the comments.</p><p>Amazing Devil songs featured in this chapter include: Wild Blue Yonder, Elsa's Song, and a reference to Pruning Shears (find it if you can!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 3. sin and soil and strength and song</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>wow, hit the halfway mark on this fic! what a treat. happy chanukkah everyone! please note, this chapter has not been beta read, and will be updated with a beta'd version at some point in the future.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The annual bardic competition in Oxenfurt marks the beginning of autumn, and is attended by poets and performers from across the continent. There are a solid two weeks of festivities that overtake the city and the university, with much singing, dancing, drinking, performing, and celebration widely attended by folks of all ages and backgrounds. All the while, the trees of the city are turning beautiful shades of bright yellows and rich oranges and vibrant reds, a brief respite of loveliness before winter sets in and the leaves fall from their branches to the ground. Traveling vendors attend to sell exotic and exciting goods from all around the world. Even passing nobility and a few distant kings come to see the celebrations. It’s a great deal of fun, and there is a song contest at the beginning of the festival that bards come from around the world to compete in; the bardic arts students at the university are also encouraged to participate.</p><p>Jaskier won the great honor of first place the competition prior, with a composition about a lost child at the festival looking for her parents and being rescued by a troupe of dwarven acrobats. He beat out Valdo Marx, the previous year’s victor, which cemented their rivalry forever.</p><p>One of Jaskier’s goals in life is to win the competition twice in a row, something that no one has ever achieved in any category. He feels good about this year, with a dozen notebooks full of ideas, his heart filled to the brim with song and story.</p><p>Jaskier walks arm in arm with Shani through the decorated streets, occasionally stopping at booths to look at fine clothing, jewelry, trinkets, and the like.</p><p>“Oh, darling, look at this one,” Jaskier says, spotting a ring with a beautiful amber stone. There’s something about it that draws him in, though he can’t place it. Shani peers at it closely and then laughs loudly.</p><p>“You are rather obvious,” Shani says with mirth. “But that’s a bit much, even for you.”</p><p>“What ever do you mean?”</p><p>“It’s catseye, Jaskier. It <em>literally</em> looks like the yellow eyes of a cat.”</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“Like the yellow eyes of a witcher, you fool.”</p><p>Jaskier frowns, looking at the ring. She’s entirely correct, and looking at it again Jaskier realizes that it’s exactly that which drew him in. He’s still longing for the summer, struggling to focus on classes. Professor Olson had been thrilled with Jaskier’s new collection of music, and they spent many one-on-one meetings discussing the shift in the quality of his lyrics. The seminars themselves have been less interesting. He’s particularly uninterested in his Redanian royal history elective, being that he knows most of it already from his earlier education as a viscount’s son.</p><p> “Will you buy it, lad?” asks the jeweler at the stall, looking eager.</p><p>“Erm…” Jaskier trails off, looking at the fine metal. As much as he loves rings, and as much as he misses Geralt, Shani’s right in that it’s quite a bit much. “I’ll think on it. Thank you, madam.”</p><p>He places it back down and Shani makes a mild effort to contain her amusement. The jeweler frowns and leans back, and they continue on down the street.</p><p>The rest of the day is a good one, right up until they go to hear the winners of that day’s competitions, and Jaskier fully expects to hear his own name called. Instead, he gets second place. It takes all of Shani’s patience to calm him down until he sees the first place winner strolling across the stage to accept a prize.</p><p>The winner is a young woman, presumably a university student although Jaskier has certainly never seen her. Likely a first-year. And imagine that, winning first place your freshman year! The master of ceremonies says her name is Callonetta, and she is, in Jaskier’s completely correct opinion, absolutely <em>stunning.</em></p><p>She’s got long blonde hair and bright eyes and an absolutely incredible smile. Jaskier is immediately smitten with her. Then she begins to sing her winning piece and he’s head-over-heels in love in an instant. Her playing is excellent and her voice is lovely and, Jaskier has to admit, her lyrics are better than what he submitted.</p><p>“Oh no,” Shani groans, covering her face with her hand in playful exasperation. “Not again.”</p><p>“But <em>look at her, </em>Shani!” Jaskier says, eyes wide. “She’s incredible!”</p><p>“Jaskier, you’re killing me.”</p><p>“I mean, her voice! It’s downright angelic! And did you see how good she is on the mandolin!?”</p><p>Shani groans again. “Here we go…”</p><p>“Oh, and of course she’s gorgeous. Is she a first-year? She must be, I’d have known if someone like that was around campus…”</p><p>“Melitele preserve me…”</p><p>He smacks her arm lightly with the back of his hand. “Hey! Be supportive of me!”</p><p>“I can’t keep doing this,” she continues melodramatically, trying not to laugh.</p><p>“You can, and you will!” Jaskier says cheerfully. “Come on, let’s go meet her!”</p><p>“Oh, am I tagging along? You really need my help picking up a fellow arts student at a poetry and music festival?”</p><p>Jaskier considers it. “…Actually, Shani, dear, would you mind terribly—“</p><p>“I don’t mind,” Shani interrupts. “In fact, I insist. Please. Off with you.”</p><p>He laughs, and she rolls her eyes but grins good-naturedly. She waves her hands in a shooing motion.</p><p>“Go, go, meet the woman of your dreams. For the brief time you’ll spend asleep, at least.”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks with another laugh, arms spread wide as he backs away from her before he turns to make his way towards the stage in the center of the square. It’s easy to get through, the crowd dispersing after Callonetta’s winning performance, and he approaches her with his most charming smile. She turns as he gets near and beams at him.</p><p>“Oh, I know you!” she says sweetly. “You’re Jaskier! Second place, yeah?”</p><p>He fights back the urge to cringe. Despite this talented and charming woman’s lovely presence, the loss still stings. “Ah, yes, well, I had been rather confident in my entry, but clearly I couldn’t have known such a delightful, skilled, beautiful—“</p><p>“Your piece was good,” she says, ignoring his flowery praise. “Really good. Did you actually <em>see</em> a witcher fight a pack of ghouls in a graveyard?”</p><p>“Yes! I did!”</p><p>She leans in, one hand gripping the neck of her mandolin. “How very exciting. You must tell me more about it.”</p><p>“It would be my absolute pleasure.”</p><p>Callonetta reaches out a hand to shake, and Jaskier accepts it enthusiastically.</p><p>“Nice to meet you, Jaskier,” she says. “My name is Priscilla. Stage name is Callonetta, but my friends all call me Priscilla. I have a feeling we’re going to get along like a house on fire.”</p><p>He smiles back. “I rather think so as well. Would you like to go for dinner?”</p><p>She giggles. “Well, you really do jump right to the point, don’t you. Sure then, let’s do. I’ll even let you pay for it.”</p><p>This is the beginning of something great, Jaskier can already tell.</p><p>--</p><p>“Hello, Geralt,” Yennefer says.</p><p>Geralt found his way to Geso after killing a cluster of arachas for some peasants in Mettina, following rumors of monsters and hopes of coin. This particularly derelict tavern is not the place he expects to see the sorceress sweeping into, but maybe he’ll be able to convince her to magic the absolutely disgusting swill he’s drinking into something more palatable.</p><p>The overwhelming scent of lilac and gooseberries permeates the room, which is a blessing in this case because the tavern is directly next to a pig farm, and the extant smell isn’t appealing.</p><p>“Yen,” he replies, turning to face her as she takes a seat beside him at the bar. The barkeep’s scowl lessens slightly when she smiles at him and orders wine. Geralt is aware of the effect she can have on people when she so desires. It even still works on him, from time to time.</p><p>“I assume you’re here for a reason,” Geralt adds.</p><p>She sips at the wine she’s been given and frowns, circling the rim with one perfectly manicured finger. Geralt watches as the drink inside changes color. She then reaches over with a sigh and does the same to his own mug, which he’s quite grateful for.</p><p>“I just thought it would be fun to catch up together in such a charming little town,” she answers.</p><p>“Very funny.”</p><p>“I’m <em>hilarious,” </em>she deadpans. “No, Geralt, I’m here because I heard a rumor that I thought you might be interested in investigating with me.”</p><p>He frowns. “Is there an employer attached to this rumor?”</p><p>She smiles in such a way that makes him uncomfortable. He hates when she does this. He responds by rolling his eyes and drinking his newly improved beverage.</p><p>“Where is it, what’s the rumor?” Geralt grumbles.</p><p>“North from here, near the border into Toussaint,” she says. “There’s a very small town just there that apparently no one comes out of.”</p><p>“There are a lot of towns like that.”</p><p>“Not like this one.”</p><p>He sighs deeply. “You think there’s some kind of monster on the road keeping people trapped or something?”</p><p>Yennefer laughs derisively. “You really think I’d bother coming all the way here for that? No, I suspect something far more interesting. What do you say?”</p><p>Geralt doesn’t know why she bothers asking; she already knows he won’t refuse. He inclines his head towards her, defeated, and her smile broadens dangerously.</p><p>“Excellent. Shall I just bring us right over?”</p><p>“I’m not leaving Roach here.”</p><p>Yennefer rolls her eyes. “Fine, then. It’s only about a day’s ride. I’ll mark the spot on your map and meet you there, yes?”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>She leans over to press a kiss to his cheek before she turns and marches decisively out the door.</p><p>--</p><p>Music winds its way through the streets of Oxenfurt. The festival will continue for another two weeks, but the competitions Jaskier planned to compete in have all finished, and that gives him plenty of time to court Priscilla, who seems to like him very much. Better, in fact, when he’s not putting on a show.</p><p>She asks to hear more about his exciting summer and she seems thrilled to hear about the adventures as he recounts them a little more realistically as they sit together on an outdoor patio near the food vendors.</p><p>“I always wondered,” she says, “wouldn’t a silver sword bend and break with ease? Silver is a soft metal.”</p><p>“Well, I can tell you the truth if you promise not to spread it around.”</p><p>“Oh, I promise.”</p><p>“It’s got a steel core. The plating is silver and it has to be reapplied every so often. It’s also enchanted with a spell, which helps maintain integrity,” Jaskier tells her with pride.</p><p>Information about a witcher’s weapon is hard won, as Geralt explained that witchers don’t as a rule disclose much about the tools of their trade to humans. In fact, Geralt had told him about the sword out of annoyance after an early draft of a song had Jaskier proclaiming blatantly false information, which he felt compelled to correct, despite the bard’s protests of artistic license.</p><p>“Interesting!” Priscilla replies, eyes twinkling with excitement.</p><p>“It is rather clever isn’t it? But enough about that, you must tell me about your winning piece. How did you come up with it? Your lyrics are remarkable!”</p><p>She grins, basking in his praise. “Well, I spent a lot of time in the public library in Pont Vanis. The 9<sup>th</sup> century fixed form poetry really inspired me, and I think it’s quite fun to play around with a mix between classic and modern stylings.”</p><p>He listens attentively as she discusses their shared craft. <em>She’s incredible</em>, Jaskier thinks dreamily, and how wonderful it is to dine with someone of equal talent (if not greater, though his pride isn’t ready to admit to anything quite so hastily) and shared interests. Priscilla is funny, captivating, lovely, and extremely intelligent. Jaskier is absolutely smitten already.</p><p>They sit at their table for hours as the sun goes down, discussing their favorite authors and their classes this semester; Jaskier loses himself in the conversation until they both notice the street vendors begin to pack up for the night as the area is cleared to be converted into an area for dancing and merriment. The plaza is large and paved with smooth stones and surrounded by a line of trees, their leaves in the throes of autumn. The celebrations will continue well into the night, as they always do.</p><p>“Do you think I could convince you to stay and dance with me, Priscilla?” he asks as they move away so the area can be cleared and cleaned.</p><p>“Hmm…” she taps her finger a few times against her cheek as if she’s weighing the request heavily, and then she smiles. “Well, I suppose I could clear my schedule…”</p><p>“Brilliant,” he replies. “I heard the royal Temerian minstrel troupe will be playing tonight. I’m quite excited to hear some southern ballads.”</p><p>“That does sound good. Once as a child I had the opportunity to hear them during Belletyn. They don’t have anything on a good Aedirnian dirge though.”</p><p>“Aedirnian over Temerian? Oh, I think this friendship is over before it begins.”</p><p>“Surely it’s not, if you would only admit that you don’t know what you’re talking about!” she says with a teasing laugh, and he laughs too.</p><p>Oddly, he suddenly remembers Geralt at the end of the last school year, begrudgingly and awkwardly complimenting Jaskier’s song while mentioning he didn’t know anything about music. Of Geralt listening to his playing across the campfire in the summer, hands slowing as he worked so he could focus on the music.</p><p>“Jaskier, where have you gone?”</p><p>He startles from his thoughts to see Priscilla looking at him kindly.</p><p>“Hmm? Nowhere, of course, why would I want to be anywhere else if you’re right here, darling?” he gives her his best smile, and she shakes her head.</p><p>“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Priscilla tells him.</p><p>“Oh, is that so? Then what would you prefer?”</p><p>She grins, and Melitele preserve him but she is absolutely stunning. Priscilla says, “Start off with a dance and we’ll see how it goes.”</p><p>--</p><p>Geralt arrives at the outskirts of the town around dusk. Upon approach, his medallion begins to tremble and hum, warning him of danger even at this distance.</p><p>“Hmm,” he says.</p><p>“Yes, that’s what I thought you’d say,” Yennefer quips, walking out of a portal beside him.</p><p>He turns his head to glance at her. She’s looking at the buildings with interest.</p><p>“Thoughts?” she says.</p><p>“Medallion is sensing magic. The road here hasn’t been disturbed in a long time, at least a few weeks if not longer. The mist settling over the area is unnatural. I don’t hear people or animals. There’s no signs this place has been occupied in ages, but the grass isn’t overgrown. Stasis?”</p><p>“Stasis was my thought as well,” Yennefer says, walking towards the town center. Geralt dismounts and follows her on foot.</p><p>As they approach the buildings, an oppressive drowsiness suddenly smothers Geralt’s senses like a heavy blanket. He frowns and fights off a yawn.</p><p>They choose the first house on the little road and find the door unlocked. Geralt opens it and the two of them enter. Inside there is a fire lit in an oven with stew in a pot cooking above it, looking for all the world like someone had just left it there. There’s also a woman lying on the ground near the kitchen table, and a man sitting in a chair, slumped over.</p><p>Yennefer pushes past Geralt to check on the woman first, pressing two fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. Geralt moves to check on the man, though from across the room he can hear their heartbeats and slow, even breaths. The man does not respond to being touched or moved; he looks like he’s simply fallen deeply asleep.</p><p>“Alive,” Yennefer says of the woman.</p><p>“Him too.”</p><p>Geralt moves over to inspect the fire. It’s roaring gamely over apparently fresh logs but something seems odd, wrong. He tugs off a glove and reaches out to touch it.</p><p>“Oh, what are you d—“</p><p>Geralt says, “The fire’s not hot.”</p><p>He sticks his bare hand into the flames; it looks like a normal fire but feels no different than a gust of wind. He pulls back and inspects the cooking food; the meal itself seems perfectly fine, but the pot is cool to the touch even though the meat inside is cooked and not spoiled. He dips a finger into the stew and pulls it out to taste it; the food tastes fine, room temperature, not matching at all with how it looks.</p><p>“Must you always go on putting things in your mouth?” Yennefer demands. “You don’t know what caused this.”</p><p>Geralt shrugs. “I’m a witcher.”</p><p>“Witchers can be affected by some magic too,” she scolds him as she stands and brushes dirt from her skirts. “Well? Did you learn anything?”</p><p>“Whatever caused this hasn’t affected the flow of time, but nothing is aging. The food is boiling, but cannot become cooked. The fire is burning, but no exothermic reaction is taking place over the coals. The town is not stopped. It’s sleeping.”</p><p>“You believe this is a meaningful distinction?”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>Yennefer hums and runs a finger over the table; there is no dust to indicate any time has passed. She goes and makes her way back to the door, but pauses as she glances over into the further part of the house. Two children are there, a boy and a girl, lying on the ground with some wooden block toys sitting between them, built up into a little tower. She stares at them with something almost soft in her violet eyes.</p><p>He frowns. “Come on,” Geralt says, gently nudging her towards the door.</p><p>They inspect the rest of the town and a few more houses, finding more of the same, people sleeping on the ground wherever they were standing when the curse began. A barn full of slumbering cows and chickens, a tavern filled with slumped over patrons, cook-fires blazing with no heat or smoke, but nothing else that indicates what exactly happened.</p><p>“So,” Yennefer says, arms crossed. “This is certainly a curse.”</p><p>“I agree.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the exterior wall of the tavern, glancing at a dog where it’s asleep on the ground outside.</p><p>“Have you ever encountered a curse that affected a large, contained area?” she asks.</p><p>“No. I dealt with a cursed forest once,” Geralt answers. “And cursed individuals.”</p><p>“Well, what happened with the forest?”</p><p>“There was a leshen. I killed it.”</p><p>Yennefer scowls. “That’s not very helpful.”</p><p>“I never said it would be.”</p><p> “I think I’ll have to do some research on it,” she says with a sigh. “See if there’s any record of a similar event, and what was done.”</p><p> “Aretuza?”</p><p>She scoffs. “Of course not. I might check in with Triss, though, see if she’s got any ideas. No, I need to look into the history, not the actual curse-breaking. It won’t be much help if I can’t identify what it is. There’s a library much better stocked with books like that.”</p><p>“What library might that be.”</p><p>“Oxenfurt University’s, obviously.”</p><p>Geralt whips his head around to glare at her, and she’s smiling back at him like the picture of innocence.</p><p>“No,” he growls. “Go to Aretuza, or Bann Ard.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t bare your teeth at me, <em>White Wolf</em>,” she says mockingly. “There really is no better place.”</p><p>“Don’t call me that.”</p><p>“Don’t be so cranky,” Yennefer counters. “That name has helped you ever since that bard of yours came up with it. You don’t have to go anywhere near the city if you don’t wish to be helpful. I can come find you again once I’ve learned what I need to. If there’s ever been another place cursed like this one, there will be a record of it there.”</p><p>“Yennefer.”</p><p>“And if I <em>happen</em> to bump into any of the bardic liberal arts majors while I’m there, well, I’ll be sure to give them your best, won’t I?”</p><p>“Don’t you <em>dare—“</em></p><p>She raises a perfect eyebrow at him. He continues to level his most menacing glare at her. He’s managed to keep from thinking too much about Jaskier for the few weeks it’s been since their parting. His scent lingers among Geralt’s saddlebags, and he had accidentally left a bar of his chamomile soap behind, which Geralt has neither used nor thrown away.</p><p>“Leave him out of this,” Geralt forces out through clenched teeth. “He should be finishing school and singing his songs, not getting involved in my affairs.”</p><p>“Your <em>affairs? </em> Look, I know you’re still angry about what happened with those elves—though if your bard’s little song is anything to go by, he isn’t—but refusing to give yourself what you want isn’t going to help that. And frankly, what could be safer for a human than the devotion and protection of a big strong witcher? He is alive, after all.”</p><p>“Even if that was my intent, I can’t just <em>give myself </em>a person,” Geralt replies angrily.</p><p>“Mm, but you might <em>wish</em> yourself one, if I recall.”</p><p>He turns away, ashamed, because he did do just that, albeit unintentionally. Yennefer can be cruel, but she’s also not wrong. She raises a hand to cast a portal and then glances at Geralt, calmly and thoroughly unimpressed.</p><p>“Believe me when I tell you that denying yourself something you want will not make you want it less.”</p><p>She walks through and it closes behind her, leaving Geralt alone in the sleeping little town. He lets out a grunt of frustration and marches quickly back to Roach, who is waiting patiently where she was left.</p><p>“It’ll take us a <em>week</em> to get to Oxenfurt,” he grumbles.</p><p>Roach huffs loudly, as if to say that she’ll get them to the city as fast as she can. He mounts the horse and turns her north towards Redania.</p><p>--</p><p>Jaskier is head-over-heels in love with Priscilla. She’s a kindred spirit, a talented bard, a stunningly beautiful woman. It’s easy to be present here with her, here in Oxenfurt’s yearly celebration of art and poetry and music. It’s easy to put his memories of the previous summer into the back of his mind, to focus on her, on the alluring curves of her body and her sharp intellect winding back and forth between jokes and serious discussion with ease and on her lovely smile filled with love and mischief.</p><p>It’s easy to forget about nights by the campfire and about Geralt’s rough hands slowing in their steady movements as the witcher pauses his work to listen to Jaskier compose. He hears Priscilla constructively critiquing his writing and making good suggestions and it’s easy to forget Geralt’s hesitant approval of his music. It’s so easy, Jaskier thinks, to throw himself into this thing he has with Priscilla. Geralt isn’t coming back, or interested besides, and not even Melitele herself could create a more perfect partner for Jaskier than Priscilla. With Priscilla, he can imagine a future. Filled with song, with great sex, with romance, with traveling the world, with writing music together for years and years to come. He can imagine that it would be enough for him.</p><p>One afternoon she invites him to the library with her in search of an Ofieri poetry volume she needs for a class. It’s really just an excuse to kiss between the shelving units. Unlike most people, Priscilla matches Jaskier in a love for both mischief and physical affection.</p><p>Jaskier’s got a hand up Priscilla’s shirt and she’s gasping approvingly against his cheek, fingers tangled in his hair. He pinches at one of her nipples and she moans a little louder than intended. Somewhere in the library, someone shushes them and they pull apart, worried they’ve been caught.</p><p>“Oops,” Priscilla mutters, face flushed and pretty, not looking particularly repentant. Jaskier just grins at her and kisses her forehead.</p><p>“Perhaps we really should find that book,” he says softly.</p><p>Priscilla smiles lasciviously. “And would you care to read it to me back in my dormitory?”</p><p>“Well darling, you know I always say the lighting in your room is ideal for… poetry reading.”</p><p>They find the book pretty quickly and easily and go to find one of the librarians so they can check it out. As they approach the front desk, they notice someone out of place on their campus.</p><p>She’s a woman who looks fairly young but <em>seems </em>older, with lovely brown skin and beautiful black waves of hair. She carries herself with an air of danger and importance, a don’t-fuck-with-me feeling that radiates off of her in startling waves. She is incredibly gorgeous but Jaskier feels like the last thing he wants to do is approach her. The woman is talking to one of the librarians, Eva, who is nodding their head and gesturing towards the magical history section. The strange woman says a word of thanks and begins walking in the direction Eva had pointed. It’s not unusual for guests to come to the university library for research, typically alchemists or historians, but this woman seems like neither.</p><p>“Who is that?” Priscilla whispers, gripping the poetry book to her chest, previous activities completely forgotten in the face of a good mystery.</p><p>“Dunno,” Jaskier replies. “I’ve never seen her before. She’s obviously not a student or a librarian…”</p><p>“We should follow her!”</p><p>“What? Why!?”</p><p>“She’s mysterious! Aren’t you curious? You spend all summer following a witcher around fighting terrible monsters but you won’t go see what a lady like that is doing on campus?”</p><p>Priscilla has a point, and he <em>is </em>curious, so they walk inconspicuously in the direction of the magical history section. It’s a large room, filled with records and firsthand accounts and theory books, preserved writs and notices and sketches of things kept safe for future generations to learn from.</p><p>On a day like today, the room is mostly unoccupied, with a student volunteer re-shelving books and a few alchemy students discussing a research project quietly, but the mysterious woman is nowhere to be seen.</p><p>The two bards walk softly, afraid to disturb the near-silence of the room, weaving between bookshelves and desks until they find themselves in the back.</p><p>“I don’t know where she went,” Jaskier says with a frown.</p><p>“Where <em>who</em> went?”</p><p>Jaskier and Priscilla jump to see the mysterious woman looking at them with a condescending smirk, one large tome tucked under an arm.</p><p>“Oh! No one! Just, err, a friend of ours,” Jaskier babbles nervously. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous, as they aren’t doing anything wrong, and they aren’t even out of place in this section of the library. Something about this woman is just unnerving. “We really ought to be going. Sorry for getting in your way.”</p><p>The woman hums, glancing between the two of them, her strange violet eyes shifting and almost catlike. “Curiosity is an admirable trait. Do you study history here?”</p><p>“Not exactly. We’re bardic arts majors,” Priscilla says. “Though history is a vital part of our trade.”</p><p>The woman raises a perfect eyebrow, violet eyes suddenly looking less annoyed and more delightfully surprised.</p><p>“Bards, hmm? And what might your names be?”</p><p>“I’m Priscilla, and this is Jaskier…”</p><p>Now both of the woman’s eyebrows are raised, and she smiles in such a way that makes Jaskier thinks maybe she’s thinking about eating him for dinner, but not in a fun way. He’s unsettled by it, but the woman uses her free hand to brush a lock of her silky hair back from her shoulder and she tilts her head at them.</p><p>“So <em>you’re </em>Jaskier,” she says. “My name is Yennefer of Vengerberg. I’ve heard <em>so</em> <em>much</em> about you… Well, not exactly. I’ve pried the information from a rather unwilling source, but it’s no matter. I always get what I need in the end.”</p><p>Yennefer of Vengerberg makes Jaskier very nervous, and he feels himself start to freeze up. Priscilla takes a step in front of him as though to shield him from Yennefer. He has no idea why this woman would want to know about <em>him</em>, a student bard and son of a relatively minor viscount from Kerack.</p><p>“We’re sorry to have disturbed you,” Priscilla says firmly. “Please, um, enjoy your time in Oxenfurt! The festival really is lovely.”</p><p>“Ah yes, the festival. How much longer will it be going on?”</p><p>“Another week.”</p><p>Yennefer smiles dangerously. “How wonderful. Geralt will surely be here by then, if I know him, and he’ll be able to catch the last few days.”</p><p>Jaskier’s head snaps up and he finds himself meeting her powerful gaze.</p><p>“You know Geralt?”</p><p>“Ha, do I ever,” Yennefer says. “He’s helping me with an investigation into something right now, though of course he refused to come with me the easy way. Right now he’s riding across Temeria just about as fast as Roach’s legs can carry him, I’d assume.”</p><p>The panic subsides immediately and Jaskier’s chest grows warm with delight at the idea of seeing Geralt again so soon after their parting. The weeks back at his normal life have been agonizingly dull, though meeting Priscilla has helped that immensely. Now he’s imagining going through the beautiful autumn-colored streets of the festival with them both, discussing the day’s performances with Priscilla, catching up with Geralt’s exploits from their time apart…</p><p>But even as the image is held in his mind he loses it. Geralt would surely have no interest in coming along. Priscilla wouldn’t necessarily be comfortable being joined by a witcher on their stroll. The two don’t fit together in his head, though he wants them both quite badly. He has on occasion been with multiple people at once, even some that had little interest in each other, but he isn’t <em>with </em>Geralt so much as pining after him pathetically, and Geralt isn’t like anyone else Jaskier has ever met. It just doesn’t work in his head. It’s not so easy anymore, he suddenly finds, to make himself forget about the witcher, or to believe that his future lies with his lovely fellow bard.</p><p>“Maybe we can help you,” Jaskier says. Priscilla gives him a <em>what-are-you-on-about</em> look and he tries to give her a <em>just-trust-me-on-this </em>look in return.</p><p>“Oh?” Yennefer looks amused. “What do two bardic students know that could be of assistance to a sorceress and a witcher?”</p><p><em>A sorceress!</em> Jaskier thinks excitedly. <em>Of course Geralt has interesting friends.</em></p><p>“We know this library very well. We check out the books here all the time for classes and for inspiration,” he replies. “And we know the city, the history, and the local tales better than anyone.”</p><p>She looks at him blankly for a moment, and then her mouth curves up into a terrifying half-smile. Then she hefts the book under her arm up and flips it open.</p><p>“Very well. I’m looking for any mention of a town, city, or specific area under a curse. The country or size of the area doesn’t matter so long as it’s an affected region and not individual house or person. No hauntings or possessions either, it’s specifically a curse. The curse would be referred to as either stasis or slumber, I’m not sure which terminology might have been utilized.”</p><p>“So you’re looking for a story about a place that’s been put to sleep?” Jaskier asks with a frown. “Like <em>Sleeping Beauty?</em>”</p><p>Yennefer squints at him, annoyed and suspicious. “That story is about one person under a curse,” she says.</p><p>Priscilla speaks up, “No, in some versions of the story, after the princess is cursed, the faeries put the entire castle town to sleep until the prince can break the spell with true love.”</p><p>“I’ve never heard that version,” Yennefer says with a scowl.</p><p>“It’s taught in the Classic Tales class,” Jaskier replies. “It’s an older variant of the story.”</p><p>Yennefer shakes her head and scoffs. “I should have known,” she says, “that bards would know a <em>story</em> better than anyone. And here I thought this would just be a bit of fun. Well, I can see why he likes you so very much.”</p><p>Jaskier’s face heats at the thought. “I know full well he doesn’t, but it’s a nice thought.”</p><p>She laughs then, a little too loudly. Someone on the other side of the bookshelf shushes them with annoyance, and she rolls her eyes.</p><p>“So that’s how it is,” Yennefer murmurs. “Geralt really is a fool.”</p><p>“He is <em>not</em>,” Jaskier says, instinctively jumping to the witcher’s defense even in his absence.</p><p>The sorceress sighs. “Oh, but he <em>is</em>. First he trails after me from one end of the Continent to the other for years like a puppy, and now he’s behaving like a <em>dog</em>. It’s really just too funny. He’s hopeless without my help.”</p><p>Jaskier frowns. He’s not pleased to hear this woman talk about Geralt’s apparent affection for her so casually, or how she so clearly disdains what sounds to be devotion on his part. It’s unfair, he believes, that Geralt would be enamored of such an obviously callous person. It makes his heart ache to know that while a witcher can, evidently, feel love in some way after all, it’s apparently bound him to such an absolute witch.</p><p>“Well it sounds like <em>you</em> were hopeless without <em>our </em>help,” Priscilla points out, and Jaskier feels a rush of affection for her. He reaches for her hand and twines their fingers together. She turns and smiles gently at him, and he feels his heart flutter.</p><p>Yennefer glances down at their joined hands and sighs, almost disappointed. “IGeralt is too slow.”</p><p>“Well he’s on horseback, right? I’m sure he’ll get here as soon as he can,” Jaskier says.</p><p>She shrugs. “It seems to me like maybe I’ll be done here faster than I expected, with your assistance, if that’s really an offer.”</p><p>Jaskier feels like she means something different than what she says, but he doesn’t know what it might be.</p><p>“I’ve changed my mind. I would be grateful for your help,” she says, and it sounds like she does mean it. “I discovered a small town under a sleeping spell, as you may have surmised. The whole place is cursed, though I know not how or why. Without details it will be impossible to break the spell, and the collection of books here is quite unmatched anywhere else, so here I am.”</p><p>“Well,” Priscilla says with a grin. “We know this library like the backs of our hands. Where should we start?”</p><p>--</p><p>Geralt rides Roach as hard as he dares; she puts up with it to an extent, certainly aware of her rider’s distress, but eventually she stops and refuses to go any farther for the evening. The stars are bright and twinkling overhead, and the evening is cool and clear. Autumn wind sweeps through the treetops, dislodging several dead leaves, and they fall near-silently to the ground.</p><p>“Fine,” Geralt grunts, and dismounts. “We’ll stop here.”</p><p>Roach huffs loudly and nudges him with her nose.</p><p>“Sorry,” he adds, and reaches to scratch her neck. “Thank you, Roach.”</p><p>He sets up a campfire in silence. He does everything silently, wordlessly, but the woods of Cintra are never truly quiet. There is wind whispering constantly through the trees, small animals making nests and foraging for food in preparation for winter, the trickle of a creek flowing slowly from the mountains, and a herd of deer frolicking to and fro, free from the threat of hunters this far from civilization. He smells slowly rotting leaves and the smoke from his growing fire and he smells Roach, muscle and sweat and horsehair and leather. But all that in comparison to the horrendous noise and stink of bustling cities and tiny farming villages is blissfully quiet.</p><p>Geralt likes the quiet, the solitude. He always has, maybe moreso than any of his brothers. He was raised to expect it, to live in it, to meditate to its sounds and scents and sights. To heal alone amongst trees, to track monsters and beasts through forests and mountains and swamps, to identify plants for alchemy and eating. He has lived many decades this way, alone with just himself and his horse, with very little interruption to his traversing the Path.</p><p>It’s unreasonable, unthinkable, that meeting Jaskier could change his entire way of life. That he would go in just some short months from reveling in the sounds of nature and silence and expecting death to greet him any day to longing for a man in a city. This is what the Path is. This is what witchers are for. How, then, can it be one human that makes Geralt think there could be more?</p><p>Yennefer had been one thing, a powerful and long-living sorceress, but Jaskier is a human. And now he’s chasing Yennefer across the Continent, for what? To keep her from meeting Jaskier? To keep this terrible want from being known? To keep her from telling the bard the truth? And the truth is that for all the days since they met, Geralt has thought about things no witcher ought to.</p><p>“I should turn around,” he mutters to Roach. “Let Yennefer deal with the curse. Get back to the Path.”</p><p>She makes a snuffling sound as she searches the ground for grass to graze on. She pauses in this moment to give him a pointed stare as if to say, <em>but you won’t do that</em>. Geralt sighs and turns away from the horse.</p><p>“I know,” he says. “I know.”</p><p>The fire crackles, warm and bright. Geralt lets himself remember a night where Jaskier played a completed new song for the first time, blue eyes catching in the firelight, practically begging Geralt for an opinion on it.</p><p>Geralt doesn’t know anything about music. He knows only that the melody had been pleasing, and the bard’s sweet tenor enticing. He knows that Jaskier’s nimble hands had flown over the strings of his elven lute, that his cheeks and the tips of his ears had been pink, and his fringe had swayed on his forehead as he moved his head with the playing, and when he finished he looked at Geralt and smiled so prettily that Geralt had to move away from him to keep from touching. He doesn’t remember what he told Jaskier that night. Just that it wasn’t what he wanted to say.</p><p>But he remembers that he had closed his eyes to rest after, and that he could smell campfire smoke and wind in the woods and he could hear summer crickets in the nearby grasses and Roach breathing steadily and notes being played softly on an instrument and Jaskier had clouded Geralt’s senses entirely, filled his thoughts, and for a moment he wondered if perhaps in some lifetime he could have had this, kept this.</p><p>It was a foolish dream for a witcher to have. But he felt it all the same.</p><p>--</p><p>For the following five days, between classes and visiting the festival’s events, Jaskier finds himself in the library with Priscilla and Yennefer, reading through fairy tale adaptations and Redianian magical history texts, searching for information about the curse on the sleeping princess of yore.</p><p>Jaskier finds that despite Yennefer’s callous treatment of Geralt, he actually likes the sorceress quite a bit. She has a biting wit, a sharp sarcastic sense of humor, and occasionally he can convince her to talk about Geralt’s past, which has been kept secret from him.</p><p>She refuses to speak further on her relationship with the man, but Jaskier can surmise that the witcher is quite in love with her, and that she does not feel the same way about him. It seems cruel, but Jaskier understands that Yennefer is a woman who values her personal freedom above all else, so he can see why she might be uninterested.</p><p>“Witchers are possessive bastards, you see,” she tells him one evening. The two are alone, as Priscilla is attending a class, and he has asked if she knows the truth about whether or not witchers have feelings. “They do have emotions, plenty of them. Though I’m not truly sure if <em>they </em>know that. I’ve met Geralt’s fellow Wolf witchers many times. They really are… something else.” She laughs. “When they’re all together they behave like children.”</p><p>Jaskier feels a pang of jealousy. Yennefer has known Geralt for many years, almost two decades, and she knows so much of him. Jaskier wants to know everything, but he’s sure now that Geralt will never tell him, and he’s even surer that Geralt will never want him.</p><p>Yennefer looks at him with sympathy. “Don’t look so sad,” she says, almost kind. “He’ll be here soon and you can ask him yourself whatever you’d like to know. I’m sure he’ll tell you.”</p><p>“He won’t,” Jaskier answers. “He finds me annoying.”</p><p>“What makes you think that?”</p><p>“In the summer, I thought it was all going quite well and he seemed to tolerate me just fine, but after the whole thing with the elves, he kept snapping at everything I said, and he would be annoyed when I stood too close to him. Especially when we stopped at inns. I thought he’d be glad to be rid of me for the evening those nights but the next morning he’d be even more cross for having to wait. When we parted, he seemed pretty set on not visiting me again. He’s only going to come here because you’re here.”</p><p>She sighs deeply, irritated. “Did you ever consider that he’s just so out of touch with his own feelings that he doesn’t know how to express that he was worried about you?”</p><p>Jaskier pauses. He <em>hadn’t</em> considered that. He himself is an emotionally intelligent person, as bards ought to be, and it’s never occurred to him that maybe he was being unfair to a man who until the summer had always traveled alone and suddenly had a human he needed to look after. He feels guilty, suddenly, for the assumptions he made about Geralt. But just the same, Jaskier knows he cannot allow too much hope to bloom in his chest. Even if Geralt does consider him a friend, that would be the end of the witcher’s affection towards him.</p><p>“Lady Yennefer, I’m glad to have met you,” Jaskier says sincerely, and she looks surprised and a bit uncomfortable.</p><p>“Hm. I suppose I can say the same about you,” she answers hesitantly. “You and your girl, Priscilla. She’s very charming.”</p><p>Jaskier grins at that. “She is, isn’t she? I must confess that I love her quite a bit.”</p><p>Yennefer sighs again, her violet eyes shifting away. “You are quite suited to each other. It’s almost a shame.”</p><p>“I don’t see what you mean,” he says with a frown. “A shame?”</p><p>“Not a shame for you. Well, no matter. It’s his own fault. Let’s conclude for the evening. I have a mind to attend some of the festival while I’m here.”</p><p>She gathers up her books and places them back on the return cart before making her way out the door.</p><p>--</p><p>Roach gallops as quickly as possible through the swamps of Velen and eventually the horse and her witcher find a ferry to get them across the Pontar to Oxenfurt’s harbor.</p><p>Geralt stables her at a small barn near the docks, and winds his way through the busy streets as he realizes that some kind of celebration is happening in the city, overwhelming his senses with a cacophony of noise and a myriad of scents. He stalks through the crowds, every inch of him a wolf, and makes his way to the open campus library. It is here that he is able to focus and pick up the smell of lilac and gooseberries, which he follows back out into the throes of the festival.</p><p>He’s well and truly irritated with Yennefer. The marshlands of Temeria are slimy and disgusting, and camping in their midst is wildly unpleasant. He normally would go around, but he has no idea what tales and lies and, most worryingly, <em>truths</em> she’s been telling the bard for the past week. She could have said <em>anything</em>, and Geralt has no way to know or to undo whatever mess she’s made for him.</p><p>He pushes his way through the crowds, nostrils flaring as he tracks her smell in the streets. He’s going to<em> kill </em>her, he swears it, compulsion and friendship notwithstanding. Her meddling in his personal life is untenable, and he’s perfectly content to stay far away from Jaskier for the remainder of the bard’s short human life, to keep him safe from the dangers of a witcher’s work. But now, thanks to her behavior, once again he finds himself in Oxenfurt, endangering the other man just by being part of his life.</p><p>The witcher finally spots the sorceress in question sitting at a table with a young blonde woman and Jaskier’s friend Shani. The younger woman seems to be telling some sort of story, Shani nodding along, and Yennefer is smirking as she listens. If Shani is there, that means Yennefer has certainly already met Jaskier and put whatever meddling she intends into action.</p><p><em>All right, </em>Geralt thinks. <em>This is a problem.</em></p><p>He’s absolutely furious as he marches up to the table. Yennefer turns to see him first, lavender eyes lighting up with mischief. Shani and the other woman see him after, looking shocked and a bit afraid of his apparent anger. Geralt doesn’t give anyone a chance to speak. He reaches out and grabs Yen’s arm, rougher than he usually would, and yanks her to her feet.</p><p>“You,” he snarls. “Come with me, <em>now.</em>”</p><p>She rolls her eyes at him. “You’re being a brute, you know that?”</p><p>Still, she allows him to pull her away from the table and around into a nearby alley.</p><p>“What have you done?” he growls once they’re alone.</p><p>“Me? I’ve researched our little sleeping curse for a week while you rode around on your horse.”</p><p>“What have you <em>said?</em>”</p><p>She smiles, and jerks herself out of his grasp. “You’ve really done yourself a disservice here. I actually like your man quite a bit. If you intend to leave him alone forever, maybe I’ll keep him instead. Him and his girlfriend.”</p><p>Geralt growls and forcibly suppresses a growing disappointment in his gut. It’s better to be angry. Anger is easier to use, to control. Anger is preferable to the terrible alternatives.</p><p>Yennefer continues, “They just met not long ago, two weeks. But he’s already quite in love. You’re a fool, Geralt of Rivia. You’ve no <em>idea</em> how he talks about you.”</p><p>“This is not your business,” he snaps, pointing an accusing finger at her.</p><p>“I did nothing wrong,” she answers. “I was in the library looking for information. <em>They </em>approached <em>me </em>out of curiosity. You must know something of the bard’s <em>curiosity, </em>Geralt.”</p><p>Of course he knows. He appreciates Jaskier’s curiosity, but it’s something that’s bound to get him into trouble, and already has.</p><p>“Leave. Him. <em>Alone</em>. Now. We’re leaving. You’ve been here a week, by now you must know how to break the curse. We’ll break it and then I’ll be on my fucking way.”</p><p>She slaps his hand away from her arm and glares back.</p><p>“You’re such a horse’s ass, you know that? I’m helping you along. You’ll hurt the both of you ten times over before you admit to him you want him to be yours.”</p><p>Geralt nearly shakes with fury, can barely keep it out of his eyes.  Not that it matters; for all his witcher training and mutations to purge emotion from his face and voice, Yennefer can always read him perfectly. “Yennefer, if you don’t leave with me <em>right now—“</em></p><p>“You’ll what?” she asks mockingly. “Make another wish?”</p><p>“You can’t bring that up <em>every time</em>—“</p><p>“Oh, I can and I will—“</p><p>“—and this isn’t any of your fucking business—“</p><p>“—whenever I damn well please—“</p><p>“Yennefer, if you don’t—“</p><p>“<em>Enough</em>,” she exclaims, firm and irritated. “Geralt. I did not tell him of your feelings, or your reasons for acting so callously towards him. I only told him that you consider him a friend, because you’re too <em>stupid</em> to tell him yourself.” Yennefer sighs, softens her tone a little. She sounds sympathetic, which he hates even more. “You missed your shot,” she continues. “As I said. He’s quite in love with the blonde woman over at the table, Priscilla. She’s a bard too, very intelligent and funny, they’re really a perfect match.”</p><p>Geralt feel his shoulders sag in defeat. It’s better this way, he knows, but the awful longing thing in his chest doesn’t agree at all.</p><p>She reaches out and pats his cheek. “Now, will you come be civil, and have a drink? They’ve been extremely helpful in figuring out the curse’s details. The pair of them know stories that the likes of us overlooked entirely.”</p><p>He feels… sad, he supposes, though he takes a deep breath and focuses his mind on going blank, on feeling nothing at all. It’s logical that Jaskier would meet and love other people, especially when Geralt has done nothing to lay claim to Jaskier’s affections and has made efforts to push the man away. It’s also logical that there are countless others much more suited to the bard than himself. It would be unkind and absolutely ridiculous to hope for Jaskier to be alone forever just so Geralt could bask in the possibility of what he won’t allow himself to ask for. Especially Jaskier, who loves so bravely and so often.</p><p>“Fine,” he says. “But we’re not staying.”</p><p>“You can leave. I’ll stay as long as I like. Not even you are permitted to tell me where I go or when.”</p><p>“…Sorry,” he mumbles weakly.</p><p>“Hmm? What was that?” She makes a show of cocking her head to the side and cupping her ear. “An apology? From you? Astounding.”</p><p>He frowns and refuses to meet her gaze any longer. She sighs, and he already knows he’s been forgiven.</p><p>Yennefer grabs his hand, and with a roll of her eyes she marches back to the street and leads him back to the plaza where Shani and Priscilla are waiting, wide-eyed and speaking to each other emphatically.</p><p>“Lady Yennefer!” Priscilla speaks first, looking up at them. “Is, er… everything all right then?”</p><p>“Everything is just fine,” Yennefer replies smoothly. “May I introduce you to Geralt of Rivia? Now that he’s much more willing to behave.”</p><p>He scowls at Yen but quickly schools his features into a neutral expression, and nods his head towards the other woman.</p><p>“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” Priscilla says with a smile. “I am Priscilla, it’s nice to actually meet you!”</p><p>“Good to see you again,” Shani adds with a polite smile.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye he sees Yennefer, sipping tea from a cup and smirking behind it, sharp eyes glancing between the witcher and the women. Geralt nods awkwardly towards the two of them and then takes a seat, wholly uncomfortable. He’s a witcher, meant to hunt monsters and break curses and follow the Path alone. Not to have meals with students and make nice with humans.</p><p>“What have you learned about the curse?” he asks gruffly, turning to Yennefer.</p><p>“It’s on an object in the town, and the magic spreads from whatever that object is in a small area. Someone had to have interacted with whatever it is,” she explains. “And that interaction triggered the magic. My guess is some item that once belonged to a witch or the like caused this effect, though it’s possible someone in the town angered a mage and the spell was purposeful. I find the former more likely as a vengeful mage would surely have done worse than put the town to sleep.”</p><p>Geralt nods. This makes sense to him. He’s seen enough malevolent curses in his lifetime that something as benign as slumber seems like it must have been a mistake.</p><p>“It’s just like in the old Sleeping Beauty story!” Priscilla adds with a bright smile. “The princess pricks her finger on a spinning wheel which is what puts her to sleep.”</p><p>Geralt takes a deep breath to try and calm himself but only succeeds in scenting the air around him, picking up a strong smell of Jaskier mingled with Priscilla’s own scent. It smells like they belong to each other, he notes bitterly. But Geralt is determined not to interfere with Jaskier’s life any longer, and has no claim to the man in any case. The witcher glances back to Yennefer, who is describing a few potential methods of breaking the curse, including a kiss of true love.</p><p>Shani interrupts, “Wait, you mean true love breaking curses is a real thing?”</p><p>“Indeed,” Yennefer says. “It’s the oldest magical antidote there is. Also the most effective. But you have to be fortunate enough to be loved like that. The unlikeliness of the odds are incalculable. And one must be brave enough to claim it.”</p><p>He meets Yen’s eyes across the table and she smirks at him, drinking her tea smugly. He rolls his eyes.</p><p>Geralt says, “It’s not a method a witcher or a sorceress can replicate at will, so what do you intend to do instead?”</p><p>“Obviously, we have to find the object the curse is centered around. From there I have a few different methods I can try, though I think a standard magic circle with a crystal focus will do the trick. It’s an old kind of magic, so I imagine its defenses will have been weakened by time,” she says.</p><p>He nods in understanding as the two students glance at each other in confusion. Shani shrugs at Priscilla as if to say she’s got no idea what any of that means. Neither student attends Oxenfurt to study magic or even alchemy, after all, so it’s not surprising.</p><p>Yennefer begins explaining magic circle theory to the two, but a breeze sweeps through the plaza carrying the scent of autumn, of the baked goods for sale by the festival street vendors, of someone quickly walking closer smelling of sandalwood and ink and wine and Geralt turns towards the calming, familiar smell.</p><p>Jaskier is as handsome as he remembers, with windswept brown hair and pretty blue eyes and calloused, dexterous hands. The sight of him approaching with his notebook open in his hands, scrawling in it with his tongue peeking out of his mouth absentmindedly is familiar and comforting, and despite himself Geralt feels warmth pooling in his gut as he sees Jaskier smile in seemingly self-triumph as he tucks his graphite away into his bag.</p><p>“’Cilla, darling!” Jaskier calls, still reading over something he must have written. “I’ve fixed the second verse for sure this time, would you please take a look at it?”</p><p>Geralt watches Priscilla glance at the bard’s approach, her face lighting up in a genuine display of love and affection.</p><p>“You may want to pay attention to your surroundings, love,” she calls back with a grin.</p><p>“I haven’t walked into anyone yet,” he replies, but he moves to tuck his notebook against his side as he picks up the pace.</p><p>“You may, in fact, walk into someone unexpected.” Priscilla looks over at Geralt and winks. She really is a charming person, Geralt has to admit, with wit to match.</p><p>Jaskier finally does look up, smiling broadly at his girlfriend, and then finally takes in the full table and its occupants. Yennefer is leaning back with her arms crossed, waiting to be entertained. Shani sips at her tea and looks as though she wishes to do the opposite.</p><p>“Oh,” Jaskier breathes out. A flush creeps up his neck as he looks from Priscilla to Geralt and then at Shani, as if to give her some kind of silent message which she ignores in favor of refilling her cup. “Geralt!”</p><p>The bard comes up to the table, grabbing an empty seat from a neighboring setup and then flounders with it, unsure if he should sit by Priscilla or Geralt. He finally chooses Priscilla after a moment’s debate, and she leans into him when he seats himself.</p><p>“Give me the notebook,” she says to him. “I still don’t think you need the repetition in the first stanza.”</p><p>“I’m keeping the repetition! It reinforces the theme,” he argues, clearly trying to focus on her but failing in his surprise to do so.</p><p>“The theme should speak for itself. Let me see that.”</p><p>He hands it to her and she eagerly goes to work, pulling out a stick of graphite to write notes in the margins.</p><p><em>She’s editing his lyrics, </em>Geralt realizes. The witcher knows for a fact that Jaskier has never had someone do that for him before. She really must be a talented bard, on top of all her other wonderful qualities. Geralt should be glad that Jaskier has found someone so suited to him, but he just feels numb, almost as emotionless as the people say he is.</p><p>“Geralt,” Jaskier says, cheeks still pink. “It’s so unexpectedly pleasant to see you again. I mean, I expected it to be pleasant. I didn’t expect to see you again, not so soon. But when Yennefer came and asked for my help—“</p><p>“I did <em>not </em>ask for your help, bard,” she interrupts. “<em>You</em> asked to help <em>me </em>as I recall.”</p><p>“Semantics,” he says, waving his hand at her, and she rolls her eyes. “Point is, we couldn’t resist a good mystery. And it was quite interesting to see how folk history knowledge can be applied to modern problems!”</p><p>“Oh yes,” Priscilla agrees, still scribbling. “It’s going to make an excellent story for my Building New Mythology class.”</p><p>“You mean it’s going to make a great poem for <em>my </em>Explorations of the Poetic Voice seminar.”</p><p>“That’s your poetry class? I thought you were taking Interpretations and Intricacies of Metrical Composition in the Common Era.”</p><p>“That was last semester.”</p><p>Shani shakes her head with a small smile and mumbles, “Ah, liberal arts majors…”</p><p>Yennefer smirks at that.</p><p>“<em>Anyway</em>,” Jaskier says, trying to refocus the conversation. “Have you ever broken a curse like this before?”</p><p>“No,” Geralt says shortly. He has little patience for this, and he’s quite distracted by Priscilla, who by all accounts seems to be Jaskier’s perfect match in every way.</p><p>“Tell them about the striga,” Yennefer says, resting her chin on her hand and smiling meanly at him.</p><p>“A striga!” Jaskier exclaims. “I’ve heard of them! A terrible monster born from an unwanted pregnancy that the mother couldn’t abort. They abduct children and turn those children into more striga to try to give themselves the family they were never born into. They can never die unless you can get one of their blood relatives to accept them.”</p><p>“That’s not true at all,” Geralt says with a sigh.</p><p>“You’re no fun.”</p><p>“You’re telling <em>lies, bard.”</em></p><p>“It’s artistic license, Geralt! You know that! We’ve been over this!”</p><p>“So what <em>is </em>true?” Priscilla asks, her eyes shining bright with curiosity. It’s difficult for Geralt to look at her, as similar as she is to Jaskier. It’s obvious why they’re together.</p><p>“Striga are born from <em>cursed </em>mothers. The desire or lack thereof for the pregnancy has nothing to do with it. The mother dies in early childbirth due to the curse, and is buried. The unborn baby becomes a monster that nests in the mother’s grave. It doesn’t abduct anyone; it can be killed like anything else. Its curse isn’t broken by acceptance from anyone.”</p><p>“But it must be harmful to people, if you killed one,” Jaskier says. His faith in Geralt’s goodness is unwavering as usual, despite all evidence available to him.</p><p>Geralt explains, “They <em>are</em> dangerous. They kill anyone who gets too close, when they’re out of their nests at night. But I didn’t kill the striga.”</p><p>Jaskier, Priscilla, and Shani all stare at him, transfixed by his tale. It’s strange for Geralt to speak this much, and to so many people, and to people who actually want to hear what he has to say. Their curiosity is nearly overwhelming to his senses.</p><p>“So… what happened to it, Geralt?” Jaskier asks eagerly.</p><p>“It was a princess. <em>She</em> was. Her mother had been cursed due to the nature of the father—“</p><p>“Ooh, what about the father—“</p><p>“Jaskier.”</p><p>“Sorry, sorry, please. I’ll be good.”</p><p>“No you won’t,” Geralt snorts without thinking. Jaskier laughs at that.</p><p>“Well, I’ll try,” the bard promises. “That’s the best I can do.”</p><p>Geralt rolls his eyes. This has gone on far too long and it’s entirely Yennefer’s fault. “A striga’s curse can be lifted in a variety of ways dependent on the nature of the curse. The one I fought had to be kept out of her crypt until dawn. So she had to be fought but not killed long enough for the sun to come up.”</p><p>Geralt’s audience listens with wide eyes.</p><p>“And you saved the princess?” Priscilla asks. Jaskier has already grabbed his notebook and begun writing frantically, as he did all summer any time he could get a story out of the witcher.</p><p>“She’s fine,” Geralt says. “Maybe a bit developmentally delayed. Last I heard she’s doing well, though with a father like hers, who can say.”</p><p>“Fascinating,” Priscilla whispers, mesmerized by the tale.</p><p>Yennefer clears her throat. “<em>Ahem</em>. We’ve a curse of our own to break, if you’ll all please remember. When shall we set out?” the sorceress interrupts. “I suppose for your songs to reach a dramatic conclusion you’d like to see the fruits of your labors in person.”</p><p>“Absolutely not,” Geralt says firmly, unwilling to let Yennefer walk all over him yet again.</p><p>“From a safe distance,” she clarifies, waving a quelling hand at him. “From atop the nearby cliff, out of range of the magic.”</p><p>“Oooh!” Priscilla claps her hands together, looking excited. “I’ve got class this evening and Jaskier has a class in the morning. Shall we go tomorrow afternoon? Do you suppose an additional day of waiting will do those people any more harm?”</p><p>“Not at all, they’ve waited this long.”</p><p>“Are you going to miss two weeks of classes?” Shani asks bemusedly.</p><p>“Oh no, I’ll have them home by bedtime,” Yennefer says, looking quite smug. “They may be experts of prose and stories but <em>I </em>am an expert of portal magic.”</p><p>“You’re an expert of sticking your nose into other people’s business,” Geralt gripes. He knows it’s a low, petty shot, but he doesn’t want to be here for this. Letting go of his want for the bard was difficult enough before. But now Jaskier smells warm and pleased and romanced, like baked bread and honey, and it’s not for Geralt, and he can barely control the feral jealous thing that’s bashing itself against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape through the bars of a cell.</p><p>“You’re welcome, White Wolf,” she says with a bemused smirk. Jaskier perks up at that, a burst of bright floral excitement filling the air.</p><p>“You’ve heard my song!” he exclaims. “Why didn’t you say so?”</p><p>“Oh, Jaskier, <em>everyone</em> has heard the song. Some minstrel played it at a wine festival in Beauclair and it spread outward quite rapidly from there. I heard it when I was in Kaedwen.”</p><p>“Really!” Jaskier says. He’s beaming, practically glowing, his excitement overwhelming. Geralt frowns and crosses his arms. This has to be over, he thinks, this whole business with the curse and the bards and fucking <em>Yennefer</em> doing what she always does, namely anything she pleases, always dangling his past wrongdoing over his head like a damn noose.</p><p>“Look at you!” Priscilla says with pride. “I’m surprised the song didn’t circulate its way back to Oxenfurt.”</p><p>“Well, generally people come to the competition to play their own new pieces,” Shani points out. “Still, how exciting, Jaskier! Well done.”</p><p>“Oh, but… Has it helped?” Jaskier asks suddenly, his smile disappearing and replaced with a focused, concerned look. That had been the point of the song, after all, hadn’t it? Jaskier wanted to help, wanted the people to treat him better, to treat all witchers with respect and fair compensation. And they had. It had worked shockingly well, in Geralt’s opinion. How quickly people forget their hatred of witchers, their fear of the dreaded Butcher of Blaviken when faced with the newly made folk hero, with the White Wolf, who killed the wretched and evil elves at the Edge of the World. A <em>friend</em> of <em>humanity</em>.</p><p>Geralt forces out, “…Yes.” He hesitates before continuing. “Fewer humans try to underpay me. It’s easier to get boarding in towns further south. More people seek me out for contracts.”</p><p>Jaskier’s joyful response overwhelm the witcher’s senses, whirling about him like an invisible miasma, and Geralt finds he needs to get up from the table. He’ll go to the inn, he’ll get a room, and tomorrow the whole mess will be done. And then he can resume the Path, <em>alone, </em>and next time Yennefer drags him off to some accursed task he will refuse, compulsion be damned. And every time a townsperson calls him White Wolf, he’ll try not to think of the one who gave him that name.</p><p>“Where do you think you’re going?” Yennefer asks, and without turning Geralt can hear the disapproving frown in her voice.</p><p>“To rent a <em>room</em>,” Geralt says through gritted teeth.</p><p>“Don’t bother. You can share mine. I brought wine.” He turns back to glare at her and she winks at him, which only annoys him further. Jaskier glances between them and Geralt catches the smell of mint before Priscilla puts Jaskier’s notebook down on the table in front of him.</p><p>“Look,” she says, catching his attention. “I’ve fixed your stanza.”</p><p>“…Hell, you did. You really are brilliant,” Jaskier murmurs, and his scent shifts again to summer meadow happy. Priscilla glows at the praise, her emotions matching his.</p><p>Yennefer watches this and immediately finishes her tea and rises from the table elegantly.</p><p>“I’m off to the library to return this book,” she says, gesturing to one on the table. “Won’t you accompany me, witcher? I know you know the way.”</p><p>He sighs heavily, the fight gone out of him. It’s pointless when Yennefer gets like this, and she’s giving him an out, which isn’t especially comforting but it’s the best he can hope for.</p><p>“We’ll meet back here in the afternoon,” Yennefer says as she rises from her seat, brushing her skirts off neatly and taking the book with her. “And don’t delay. I’ll leave without you.”</p><p>“Oh, where have I heard that before?” Jaskier asks with a laugh, meeting Geralt’s gaze with his usual grin. The familiarity tugs at something in Geralt’s chest, and he ignores it.</p><p>“Come on,” Geralt says instead, and the two of them leave behind the table of students to make their way back towards the campus and the library. Yennefer loops an arm through his and squeezes gently, a silent show of support and sympathy. Geralt squeezes back, undetectable to anyone less attuned to him than Yennefer.</p><p>“It’s fine,” he mutters, and she hums softly.</p><p>Yennefer replies, “It will be.”</p><p>--</p><p>Jaskier is distracted all through the evening and doesn’t even have enough focus to integrate Priscilla’s suggestions into the sheet music he wrote for his class, and finds himself scrambling with his quill to add everything as he hurries to his seminar the next morning. It’s raining heavily, and Jaskier is trying to balance a rapidly drying quill and his notebook under his wool cloak, trying to keep them dry as he rushes.</p><p>“Julian, you’re late,” Professor Ajaya remarks sharply, frowning as he enters the room and takes his seat in the last empty chair near the front.</p><p>“I’m terribly sorry,” he apologizes, ready to grovel at his very serious Zerrikanian professor’s feet, but she brushes him off with a wave of her hand and turns back to the work of his classmate, a woman named Essi.</p><p>Jaskier struggles to focus and instead finds himself lulled by the sound of rain and the distant roll of thunder as it rumbles in from the northeast.</p><p>He’s never imagined himself to be this way, longing and lonely for one particular person. He’s always flitted from romance to romance, sometimes with multiple people at a time, sometimes for as long as a month. He can easily imagine being with Priscilla forever though, even if they don’t stay monogamous, which is a conversation they haven’t had. It had all been going so well. But… but then Yennefer showed up with the promise of Geralt and all thought of a future with Priscilla flew from Jaskier’s head like summer birds.</p><p>It’s not fair to her, he knows. He never wants to hurt anyone with his fickle heart—and yes okay maybe he has hurt a few marriages in the past but he can hardly be faulted if a friendly stranger at a bar doesn’t mention having a spouse from time to time—especially not Priscilla.</p><p>So he has to give up this fixation he’s got on Geralt, it’s the only solution. Geralt has Yennefer anyway, and would never have wanted Jaskier in the first place, so it’s not like it’s hard, if only Jaskier’s traitorous heart can comply.</p><p>“Mister Pankratz?”</p><p>Jaskier is jarred from his musings by the distinctly unhappy tone of his professor’s voice.</p><p>“Err. Yes, ma’am?” he replies weakly.</p><p>“Your piece, Julian,” she says with a disappointed sigh, holding out a hand. He startles and hurries to press the loose papers of sheet music into her waiting grasp, and she taps them neatly onto the table to straighten them before skimming over his changes from the week before, eyes narrowed, occasionally humming or nodding before she finishes.</p><p>“I like the changes you’ve made regarding the rhyme schemes in the third stanza. The note progression works well for the medium and the choice of instrumentation is good. I would suggest you revisit the repetition in the lyrics,” she says, echoing Priscilla’s advice from the day before, “but I look forward to hearing you play this next week. Your theme this year is… interesting, to say the least.”</p><p>“Pankratz probably fucked a mutant, it’s not that interesting,” he hears another man in the class mutter just loud enough that everyone hears it. Some of the other students snicker and he feels his face flush with anger.</p><p>Professor Ajaya clears her throat threateningly. “Mister Dashwood, if I hear you say anything like that again in my classroom you’ll be directed to the dean and reprimanded. Harshly. Do you understand me?”</p><p>“Yes, professor,” the student replies sulkily. “Sorry.”</p><p>She pins the student with her gaze as though he were a particularly unpleasant fly. “You will be. You’re next. Pass me your composition.”</p><p>Jaskier can ignore jabs at his reputation; they aren’t entirely wrong, though he can hardly understand why it matters to anyone else what he gets up to in bed. It’s more the name calling at the witcher that bothers him. He had grown used to hearing it over their summer together but it doesn’t make a difference because it pisses him off every time.</p><p>He tunes the classroom noise out again, only taking a moment of pleasure in hearing the professor refer to Dashwood’s work as “derivative, boring, uninspired” before setting his mind on the expedition he’ll be joining as soon as the class ends.</p><p>The world is full of judgmental jealous asshole classmates, yes, but it’s also full of monsters and magic. Jaskier happily prefers to focus on the latter.</p><p>After Professor Ajaya reviews everyone’s work individually, she begins the day’s lecture on the history of Nazairian wind instruments and their influence over music in the south. Usually this topic would be fascinating to him; he loves learning about music and art and how they simultaneously shape and reflect history and politics. Jaskier listens well enough to take notes but he’s unable to focus the whole time, already thinking about what the rest of the day will bring.</p><p>Jaskier likes his classes, and his professors, truly. Before he came to Oxenfurt he had felt trapped in a world he didn’t belong in, a world that gave him sideways looks and asked him why he couldn’t be decent, be quiet, be normal. His parents were the worst of it but at least their disappointment in him was expected. It was everyone else that he struggled with the most. They didn’t know—Jaskier never chose to be a bard, not really, it was part of him from when he was very young, telling made up stories to his sisters and inventing songs to sing on his mother’s nameday.</p><p>When he was a child, it all seemed quite charming. But then his parents sent him away to boarding school and the teachers there looked at him so disdainfully. They scolded him for singing, for writing little poems in the margins of his notes. He learned languages there, politics, manners, finances. And he didn’t care much for any of it.</p><p>At least his parents had allowed him this; the opportunity to study bardic arts at Oxenfurt. They believed he could at least find wealthy patrons as a bard in the halls of nobility and kings. And he could, to be sure, if that’s what he wanted. But Jaskier doesn’t want that. Jaskier wants to walk the roads of the Continent, see everything with his own two eyes.</p><p>He’s pulled from his musings by the scraping of chairs as his classmates slide their seats back and stand, making for the door at the end of the lecture. Professor Ajaya is glancing over her papers, eyes occasionally darting up to observe the students as they trickle out of the room.</p><p>“Mister Pankratz,” she says, just as he’s about to leave.</p><p>“Yes, professor?”</p><p>“Good work this semester,” his teacher says. “Don’t lose focus now on what it is you’re trying to achieve.”</p><p>He hesitates for a moment. “Thank you, professor. I won’t.”</p><p>Jaskier drops by his room to drop his class materials off and then makes his way to the town square, hood pulled up over his head in an attempt to keep himself dry. The booths are all closed up due to the weather, and there are fewer people milling around. The main stage for the festival is still set up but the performances have been postponed, and Jaskier can see Priscilla and Yennefer chatting while Geralt stands off to the side, arms crossed and scanning the area with distrustful yellow eyes.</p><p>“Oh, there you are, love,” Priscilla says with a welcoming grin, leaning up to press a kiss against Jaskier’s cheek.</p><p>“Shall we go then?” Yennefer asks. “I’d like to get out of this rain.”</p><p>“How can you be sure it isn’t raining in Geso?” Priscilla asks.</p><p>“Just a feeling,” the sorceress replies. Then she turns and gestures broadly with her arms as though she’s formed a circle with her hands and she begins to pull it wider, like she’s dragging the very air apart. Jaskier watches in awe as the wind picks up and the raindrops begin to turn in the air, the drop in pressure immediate, causing his ears to pop as the droplets spin in a door-sized circle and the space within the circle gives off a sort of glow, an energy unlike any Jaskier has ever experienced.</p><p>“Geralt, you first,” Yennefer says, eyes unblinking and not looking away from the portal.</p><p>He makes a face that anyone not well versed in Geralt’s expressions would miss, but Jaskier can see that Geralt doesn’t want to walk through the portal. But he does, apparently, want to listen to Yennefer because he walks towards and into the ring she’s holding open in space.</p><p>“Bards go next.”</p><p>Jaskier takes a deep breath, nervous despite his complete faith in Yennefer’s abilities and Geralt’s lead. Priscilla takes his hand and tugs gently, and they step through the portal together.</p><p>Stepping through the teleportation spell is like walking into an extremely short, very powerful windstorm. The air is warm and sharp against his skin and it blows the hood of his cloak off his head. It feels as though he’s forced himself through a small hole in the world but as quickly as he walks into it, he’s reached the other side.</p><p>Geralt stands ahead, looking out from a grassy cliff down at something. The sky is bright and cheery and cloudless, the sun beginning to set off in the distance, and Priscilla laughs with delight as she releases Jaskier’s hand to bolt forward, eager to see whatever it is the witcher is staring at.</p><p>“Look, Jaskier! Down there!” she exclaims in wonder. He follows her to stand next to Geralt. They’re at the top of a small cliff, and below them in the valley of it is a small town. The architecture is distinctly southern, with bright floral murals painted on the exterior walls of houses and the buildings made up of darker wood from trees native to the region.</p><p>He turns back around to see Yennefer come through the portal last and it shuts behind her with a resounding snap of air, the wind settling her dark hair about her shoulders.</p><p>“Simple,” she says. “Welcome to Geso.”</p><p>“You two will stay right where you are,” Geralt says, and turns to make his way down the slope towards the road leading into two.”</p><p>Jaskier protests. “But I—“</p><p>“<em>No.”</em> Geralt interjects with a frown. “If you get too close the curse will catch you in its area of effect and then we’ll have to fix that too. You stay here, Jaskier.”</p><p>Jaskier pouts. “Fine,” he says. Geralt nods, satisfied, and walks with Yennefer down and around. Jaskier watches their figures retreat and then enter the town.</p><p>Looking down at it, it’s nothing distinct. One could not tell anything is different or wrong, aside from the emptiness of it. There’s no life in it, no people or animals in the streets, no smoke billowing from chimneys, no sounds of business or chatter whatsoever. It’s like a set of a play, ready for a show but missing all its actors.</p><p>“It’s eerie, isn’t it?” Priscilla says.</p><p>“Yeah,” he answers. “Dead, even.”</p><p>They watch in silence as Yennefer gestures at Geralt, and he seems to glance down at his chest—his medallion, Jaskier realizes. After a moment he sees Yennefer wave her hand and a soft blueish glow seems to float around her fingers like a bright mist, bright enough to see even at this distance. Then the pair moves towards a building off from the main thoroughfare of the town, something that looks more like a storefront than a home.</p><p>After a few more minutes there is a bright flash from inside the shop, and a pulse of light spills out from the windows and open door, enveloping the whole town in a swirl of light and color, filling the air with energy as it dissipates at the edges of the area like smoke, sizzling and popping like oil in a hot pan. Geralt carries a large rug loom out of the house and dumps it unceremoniously on the ground and in a flash of Igni, the thing is ablaze and burnt to a satisfying crisp.</p><p>Then, Jaskier watches as something amazing happens. The village down below comes to life with a swell of Yennefer’s magic. Jaskier and Priscilla sit quietly, legs dangling over the side. Over the mountain, the sun is only just barely beginning to set. As the area is revived, the cool autumn wind picks up over the previously static valley and Priscilla shivers slightly, cold despite the layers of clothing she wears. Jaskier removes his cloak and places it around her shoulders, a perfect gentleman.</p><p>Her body is warm beside him, her perfume sweet. She takes his hand, their fingertips brushing together, all calloused from years of instrument playing. Priscilla sighs contentedly.</p><p>Below they can see the door to a house open, and two children run out to the road to chase after a dog, newly awoken from their magical slumber. There is chatter and laughing and excitement from people throughout the small village as they all emerge, neighbors speaking confusedly. From this far, Jaskier can just make out Yennefer and Geralt speaking to an older lady who has approached them, possibly the alderwoman. Jaskier is too far to see their faces but Geralt’s body language is relaxed. It must have been a complete success.</p><p>“Jaskier, love,” Pricilla says softly, hand turning in his, startling him from his observation. “I think perhaps you haven’t been honest with yourself.”</p><p>“What ever do you mean?”</p><p>She sighs again, and looks out on the town below, looks at the white haired witcher who seems to be listening to Yennefer speak. “You love him, yeah?”</p><p>He frowns ducks his head. “I… I do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you as well.”</p><p>“I know. And that was fine with me, but… I saw you two together, how enraptured you become so quickly. I think you’ve been trying to fool yourself into thinking that it could be enough for you. You and I get on well, and I’d like to think we always will. But this, us? I don’t think this is what you really want. I think you’ve made yourself believe it can be because you don’t think he’ll want you.”</p><p>Jaskier chances to look at her; her expression is soft, understanding, kind. He really does love her.  Anyone would. He squeezes her hand. “I know he doesn’t want me, ‘Cilla. He obviously loves Yennefer; he followed her across the Continent, didn’t he?”</p><p>Priscilla scoffs. “That doesn’t mean a thing. I would follow a friend across the Continent. Any day.”</p><p>“That so? Maybe you’re a better person than me.”</p><p>“Yeah, and a better bard besides,” she says with a laugh, eyes twinkling with their usual mischief. He gasps, mocking offense, and shakes his head. She <em>is </em>better, but she’ll have to work harder than that to get him to admit it.</p><p>“And yet here you are, classwork left unfinished.”</p><p>“Well <em>you’ve </em>got a poetry lecture first thing tomorrow and you’re more than halfway to Nilfgaard at sundown!”</p><p>“Yennefer will get us back in time.”</p><p>She smiles. “I know that. And for what it’s worth… I don’t think Geralt doesn’t want you, Jaskier.”</p><p>He heaves a great sigh; if watching Geralt and Yennefer interact has taught him anything, it’s that he’s got zero chance with the witcher. But it isn’t fair to Priscilla that the instant Geralt shows up, Jaskier can think of no one else. She’s proven quite resolutely that she deserves better than second place.</p><p>“Friends?” Jaskier asks. She smiles widely at him.</p><p>“Of course. Always. After all, aren’t we to write more music together?”</p><p>“That we are. The best duets Oxenfurt University ever heard.”</p><p>She rests her head against his shoulder.</p><p>“…Are you angry?” Jaskier asks softly. The last thing he ever wants is for Priscilla to feel unimportant or spurned. His feelings for her were, and are, genuine; but he knows sometimes that isn’t enough.</p><p>“’Course not,” she replies. “I just want you to be happy, love. And I want to be happy too. And ultimately neither of us would have been.”</p><p>He turns to kiss the top of her head. Jaskier is a poet but for once he cannot put words to the warmth and gratitude he feels for this extraordinary woman. He tries to pour his admiration and his love for her into the quiet act of affection.</p><p>“Well, we helped a sorceress and a witcher save a town from a curse with only our knowledge of faerie tales,” Jaskier says after a moment. “It’ll make quite a song.”</p><p>“Maybe a few songs,” she answers. “At the very least Professor Caffrey will be thrilled knowing he taught me something with such a practical application.”</p><p>Jaskier laughs. “Witcher’s work is nothing if not completely practical.”</p><p>“Sorceress’s work too.”</p><p>They sit in silence for a while, companionable. Jaskier feels relieved more than anything. Relieved that Priscilla understands, relieved that he won’t have to make unfair and difficult choices about love, relieved that he won’t lose this wonderful friend he’s made with a kindred soul. Down in the village, Geralt and Yennefer appear to be explaining to the alderwoman the nature of the curse, gesturing occasionally at the burnt weaver’s tool and around at the town itself. They watch as the alderwoman rushes into her home and returns with some object in her hands and presses it insistently at Geralt who, after attempting to refuse whatever it is, accepts it with a sigh.</p><p>“Yennefer doesn’t love him,” Priscilla says after a little while. Jaskier closes his eyes.</p><p>“Doesn’t matter. He loves her.”</p><p>“Maybe he loves her like you love me. A lot, but as a friend.”</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t answer, unwilling to let false hope take root. It’s bad enough as it is. He can’t let himself make it worse. The bard closes his eyes and hums the notes of a song he hasn’t written yet; Priscilla harmonizes quietly.</p><p>“Hey.” He’s pulled from his thoughts by the low rumble of Geralt’s voice. The witcher carries the energy of a successful hunt, pleased with himself, and well paid.</p><p> “Well? You must tell us how it all ended,” Priscilla exclaims excitedly, getting to her feet.</p><p>“It was the loom.”</p><p>Jaskier and Priscilla wait expectantly for an explanation that isn’t forthcoming. Then Jaskier sighs. He’s grown used to prying stories out of Geralt, but typically he gets to butter the witcher up with ale and a warm meal first.</p><p>“Where did the loom come from?” Jaskier starts.</p><p>“Market day in Sarda. An estate sale. Apparently the loom’s previous owner used it for decoration, and so the curse never activated until the weaver in town went to use her new tool.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck. What rhymes with Sarda?” Priscilla mumbles to herself.</p><p>“Don’t bother with Sarda. Use “market” instead,” Jaskier says before turning back to Geralt. “Okay so the weaver goes to Sarda, comes home with a new loom, uses it for the first time, activates a sleeping curse that envelops the town?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“That’s not too far off from the original tale,” Priscilla points out. “Spinning wheel, loom. Magic really has it out for the fiber artists of the Continent.”</p><p>“Terribly unfair. What’s next, poisoned embroidery needles?”</p><p>Priscilla giggles at the joke and Geralt shifts, clearly itching to be on the move again. He’s just as stuck as the two bards, however, with Roach waiting patiently back in Oxenfurt, until Yennefer is done whatever it is she’s doing in the town.</p><p>“So Geralt. What will you do next?”</p><p>Geralt shrugs. “What I always do.”</p><p>“Oh, how descriptive,” Jaskier says with a laugh. “You never change at all, do you, witcher?”</p><p>“What need is there to change?”</p><p>Jaskier feels a pang of sadness at that. It’s true, he knows witchers rarely change. They’re constant like the hand of a clock, never in one place for long, but always doing what needs to be done, steady. He wonders if he’ll ever run out of subject matter when it comes to songs about witchers. He wonders if Geralt can tell that he’s going to write songs about him forever. He wonders if Geralt minds.</p><p>They wait quietly together; Geralt has run out of patience for talk, and Priscilla is writing notes into her book, denoting the weather, the town name, the colors of the leaves on the nearby trees, all just in case. Fortunately, it’s not long before Yennefer comes back up the cliff as well, carrying a small linen sack.</p><p>“What have you got there?” Priscilla asks.</p><p>“A few pieces of the loom,” Yennefer replies. “I’m going to study it. I’m quite interested in what exactly the intent of the original rune crafter was.”</p><p>“So the day is saved!” Jaskier says with a grin.</p><p>“That it is. Good work, students,” the sorceress says only a little sarcastically. “I believe it’s time to get you back to your studies.”</p><p>“Might as well, yeah,” Priscilla agrees. “See you in Oxenfurt?”</p><p>“No,” Yennefer says. “I’ve got a house tucked away in Vizima where I’ll be able to get some work done on this little project.”</p><p>“You mean <em>Triss</em> has a house in Vizima,” Geralt corrects her.</p><p>“Same difference, witcher.”</p><p>Before Jaskier can ask who they’re talking about, Yennefer places the bag gingerly on the ground and makes that same circular pulling motion with her hands again. The cold air whips about past Jaskier’s ears and a shimmer appears in the air, a circle, dragging loose dirt and fallen leaves into its shape and forming a portal.</p><p>“I hope your songs about this are half as interesting as this whole adventure was, Jaskier,” she says coyly. “And Geralt? I’ll see you very soon.”</p><p>The three of them make their way through the portal and arrive back where they started, in the town square. The rain is still falling heavily in the city, and Priscilla yelps and yanks the hood of her borrowed cloak up.</p><p>“Ah, fuck, these papers absolutely can<em>not</em> get wet! I’ll see you tomorrow, Jaskier!” she calls as she rushes off in the direction of campus.</p><p>“Wait, ‘Cilla, you’ve got my—ah, shit.”</p><p>He crosses his arms and shivers. He doesn’t care for the rain, though he does like the sound of it from indoors.</p><p>“Jaskier.”</p><p>He nearly forgot that Geralt had come through the portal with them. With a put upon sigh Geralt drapes his own dark wool cloak over Jaskier’s head and shoulders in a kind attempt to keep him dry. Jaskier leans into Geralt’s body with his own and grins at him.</p><p>“Well done, wasn’t it? Priscilla and I are more useful than you thought, I’d wager!”</p><p>“Hmm. Your girl is pretty smart. Not so sure about you.”</p><p>Geralt is <em>teasing </em>him. Jaskier laughs more out of surprise than anything.</p><p>“How cold! After all the work I’ve done to fix up your lousy reputation!” the bard exclaims dramatically. “See if I ever write another song about you again.”</p><p>“I never asked you to write anything about me in the first place.”</p><p>“Not verbally, I’ll agree. But destiny saw fit to present me with you, and I am, after all, a humble bard.”</p><p>Geralt lets out a small huff of almost-laughter, his breath a visible cloud in the cold air, and Jaskier beams. It’s warm here, huddled with Geralt under the cloak. He barely even notices the rain.</p><p>“She isn’t though, you know,” Jaskier finds himself saying.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Priscilla, I mean. Not my girl. It just wasn’t… quite what either of us wanted,” Jaskier explains. He doesn’t know why he bothers. Surely the witcher has far greater concerns than his love life. Especially when Jaskier’s love life isn’t going to get him run out of a small town by an angry spouse.</p><p>“Ah. Too bad,” Geralt says, though he doesn’t really sound like he thinks it’s too bad. If Jaskier didn’t know better he’d almost think the witcher sounded satisfied by the news.</p><p>“Yes, well. I fear I shall die a lonely, broken-hearted man,” Jaskier says melodramatically. “But at least I’ve got you, my grumpy monster-hunting muse.”</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>Geralt rolls his eyes. His white hair is soaked, dripping rainwater down his armored chest. Jaskier knows Geralt will find a dry place to remove the armor later and clean it thoroughly with an oiled rag before painstakingly checking each stud and joint for water damage.</p><p>“I wish I could join you,” Jaskier admits. “When you leave, I mean. I missed you. I’m sure you were glad to be back on your own, though.”</p><p>Geralt just stares at him, like he’s got no idea what to say, but Jaskier doesn’t mind. He’s not expecting an answer anyway. He also doesn’t have any illusions that Geralt missed him much at all. But then Geralt surprises him.</p><p>“It was quiet,” the witcher says. “After you left.”</p><p>“You must have enjoyed that.”</p><p>“I thought I would,” Geralt says. And he looks at Jaskier with an expression Jaskier simply can’t read. And Jaskier remembers Priscilla’s words, Priscilla’s belief that his feelings could be more mutual than he thinks.</p><p>“Well… where will you go in the winter? Perhaps I…”</p><p>“No,” he says. “Witchers don’t walk the Path in the cold.”</p><p>“You don’t?”</p><p>“We don’t. In the winter, we go home.”</p><p>Jaskier furrows his brows. Geralt lets out that little almost-laugh again.</p><p>“Are you surprised that I have a place I consider my home?”</p><p>“Honestly? Yes. You never mentioned much of anything about other witchers to me, let alone a witcher house… barracks… whatever sort of place it is.”</p><p>“It’s Kaer Morhen. The fortress where the School of the Wolf trained me and my brothers. Every winter we return there, along with witchers from other schools that find themselves too far north.”</p><p>“Really!” Jaskier is fascinated. Apparently witchers fly home for the winter like birds. Witchers call each other ‘brother’ and visit every year as a strange little family. It must be far more interesting than his own winters in Lettenhove.</p><p>“Really,” Geralt says. “I don’t want to hear about it in a song, though.”</p><p>“Fine, fine. This little adventure should fuel me through the lonely season anyway.”</p><p>The witcher turns his head up to the sky, squinting at the rain clouds as they continue to pour down onto the city.</p><p>“It won’t be long before I make the trip,” he says. “But winter never lasts.”</p><p>“And will you return here in the spring?”</p><p>Geralt turns his gaze back to Jaskier, his yellow eyes nearly glowing in the rainy night.</p><p>“It isn’t a good idea,” the witcher says. “I’ve allowed far too much already. You’re just a human.”</p><p>“That isn’t a no.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t,” Geralt answers, which still isn’t a no.</p><p>“I want you to,” Jaskier tells him. “I like having you around, witcher. Surely you can tell.”</p><p>He feels the warmth of Geralt and feels his own heart racing with desire. Shockingly, Geralt leans in and presses his lips against Jaskier’s forehead and breathes in deeply, like he’s trying to soak in the smell of damp hair and the tail ends of autumn. It could hardly be called a kiss. Jaskier closes his eyes and makes a fervent wish with all his heart that it will never end.</p><p>--</p><p>Geralt walks Jaskier back to the gates of the campus in the rain. It’s the longest he’s ever heard Jaskier silent, outside of sleep, but Jaskier seems content to press up against Geralt’s side under the cloak. His scent shifts rapidly through emotions too quickly for Geralt to track.</p><p>He picks up on scent of sadness, of desire, of longing, of relief. There are others, more of them, complex and overwhelming like Jaskier always is. Perhaps he’s still contemplating his break up with Priscilla, which Geralt cannot understand. The two were perfectly suited to each other in personality, in interests, in skill. And yet she wasn’t what Jaskier wanted. If that’s the case, Geralt is sure he has no idea what it is that will make Jaskier happy. Selfishly, he hopes such a person doesn’t exist, if only so he can entertain the idea of making a claim of his own to the bard’s affections. But even as he thinks that, he thinks better of it; he knows it’s a horrible, greedy want that he has no right to.</p><p>They arrive at the gates of the school. This time of night, no one is allowed on campus without a pass, and as before, Geralt does not have one.</p><p>“This is where we part ways,” he says, and Jaskier sighs deeply.</p><p>“You know I hate to do it,” Jaskier replies. “I hope you have a safe travel to your home, witcher.”</p><p>“And you to yours.”</p><p>Jaskier laughs once, and his scent clouds with an unhappy fog of rust. “My trips home rarely are. Perhaps next time we meet I’ll have a story to tell you, for once.”</p><p>Geralt says, “Perhaps you will.”</p><p>“Until our next meeting, then.”</p><p>“Goodbye, Jaskier,” Geralt says.</p><p>“Goodbye, Geralt,” Jaskier answers.</p><p>Jaskier slips out from under Geralt’s cloak and into the deluge of rain. He squints up at the sky once, annoyed, and then squares his shoulders and approaches the guards at the gate. After a moment, Geralt watches them open the door. The bard turns once more and waves before the gates shut behind him and once again Geralt is alone.</p><p>He returns to the inn where Yennefer had rented a room for the week; he knows she left one more night paid for so that he might sleep indoors for one more evening. Geralt intends to use this opportunity to make all the purchases he needs for the winter, and in the morning he and Roach will begin their yearly trek to Kaer Morhen.</p><p>Geralt pulls the rented blankets up to his chin and closes his eyes and allows himself to revel in the small luxury of a bed. He pretends that he’ll see Jaskier in the morning. The thought is settling enough for him to sleep.</p><p>--</p><p>It’s another rainy day in Oxenfurt; not the kind of rain where one might sit out on a patio under a covering, however. This is the kind of rain that falls in loud and heavy sheets, that reminds the denizens of the city that for all their buildings and stone-paved roads, nature is still the master of the land. The trees have mostly shed all their leaves, and the alchemists are predicting winter will begin early this year. Despite the late afternoon hour, the sky is dark with storm clouds and the campus is empty, the students all favoring indoor studies and activities for the foreseeable future. The festival ended more than a month ago, and the students of Oxenfurt are preparing for their final semester exams and presentations.</p><p>Inside Shani’s dormitory room, Shani is lying on the bed reading an anatomy tome, scribbling illustrations and vocabulary words in her notebook, occasionally re-dipping her quill into a precariously balanced ink well. Priscilla is at the small desk, barely able to keep awake as she scribbles a musical score onto parchment, head bowed as she occasionally stops muttering lyrics to herself to yawn. Jaskier sits on the bay window sill, a tome of poetry open on his lap but ignored in favor of daydreaming out the window. He toys with the yellow catseye ring adorning his index finger, a gift from Priscilla, twisting it around idly. There are candles all over the room and a fire lit in the small fireplace, brightening the dreary gloom as best as possible.</p><p>In a few days the semester will end, and a carriage bearing the Lettenhove estate’s coat of arms will arrive, driven by a sour-faced manservant sent by Jaskier’s parents to pick up their son. Jaskier will have to say goodbye to his friends and his home and his freedom and spend six weeks stuck inside with his family who will spend the winter nagging and criticizing and complaining about his clothes, his studies, his music, and his careless and frivolous cavorting.</p><p>“<em>Maybe sure I’m out of my depth</em>,” Priscilla sings under her breath. “<em>I can’t dance, but I just can’t accept that…”</em></p><p>“You’re a fine dancer,” Shani mumbles as she turns a page in her book.</p><p>“No, it’s not literal, it’s a metaphor. It’s about knowing something is impossible to do but wanting to do it anyway,” Priscilla explains.</p><p>“Oh. That’s good, then. More interesting than this.”</p><p>Priscilla glances over at Shani. “And what’s ‘this’ anyway?”</p><p>“Eh… Tarsals and metatarsals….”</p><p>“Boring.”</p><p>Jaskier smiles despite himself and tries once again to focus on a line of his assigned reading. He’s interrupted from this attempt by a sudden and insistent tapping on the window. At first he thinks it’s the rain, picked up by the wind to beat against the outer walls of the building, but the sound is sharp and steady and he looks up once more to see a large black bird perched just on the other side of the window where he’s sitting.</p><p>“What in Melitele’s name…?” Shani asks, turning her attention to the bird.</p><p>Priscilla says, “I think it wants in.”</p><p>“I don’t want a wild animal in here!”</p><p>“It’s got something tied to its foot,” Jaskier says, and he unlocks the window and pushes it open just wide enough for the bird to fly in before pulling it shut and latching it again.</p><p>The bird appears to be a raven, with glistening black feathers and bright, intelligent eyes, and what looks to be a small leather receptacle attached to its leg. The bird flaps, spraying rain water in the floor, which makes Shani yelp and move to cover her papers, before it lands on the back of Priscilla’s chair and squawks, staring at Jaskier with intelligent eyes.</p><p>“Well that’s strange,” Priscilla says, reaching a cautious hand towards the bird. When it makes no move to bite at her offered hand, she pats it gently on the head and it leans into the affection, trilling happily. After it enjoys her attentions for a moment, the raven seems to remember itself and jumps over to Jaskier, hovering above his shoulder until he holds up an arm to offer it a perch.</p><p>He obliges and the bird leans down to the receptacle on its leg. It tugs the container open and extracts a rolled up bit of parchment that’s tied with a purple ribbon. The bird tilts its head at Jaskier until he accepts the paper and unties it, unrolling it so he can read what it says. The paper itself is scented with a familiar perfume, floral and tart.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Friend,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hello Jaskier. I assume this message finds you well. As a means to thank you and Priscilla for your assistance in my investigation, I present to you this gift; this raven knows the way to Kaer Morhen, and she will be happy to carry your messages wherever you intend to send a letter for the low price of the occasional meal and a warm place to sleep upon her return. Do be sure to write if you’ve anything interesting to say. She’ll always return to you, even if you’re traveling or somewhere she hasn’t been before. The bird had no name as of yet. I assume you’ll take care of that, being the sentimental type. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Geralt is about as good a letter writer as he is at communicating in any other capacity. Don’t take it too personally. I’m sure he’d still be happy to hear from you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours, Yennefer</em>
</p><p>Jaskier feels warmth bloom in his belly as he rereads the letter with a grin. “Oh, our sorceress has left us with a gift.”</p><p>“Well? What is it?” Shani asks.</p><p>“This is a messenger bird. I assume one that Yennefer has enchanted herself.”</p><p>The bird squawks happily, as if to confirm this to be true.</p><p>“What a thoughtful gift. It’ll be nice to be able to write each other over the winter,” Priscilla says with a smile, getting up to pat the raven’s folded wings gently. “And, I would assume, a certain witcher might be able to receive letters this way.”</p><p>“What kind of letters does a witcher usually receive?” Shani wonders, grinning slyly. “Something like ‘there’s a monster here, please come kill it, we may or may not pay you’.”</p><p>“I’m more curious about what kind of letter a witcher might <em>send</em>,” Priscilla replies. “I guess Jaskier will have to report back on that subject.”</p><p>“Maybe I will, and maybe not,” he answers cheekily. “The first manner of business is naming this pretty girl here.”</p><p>“Sable,” Priscilla suggests. “For her lovely black wings.”</p><p>“What about Guinevere?” Shani says.</p><p>“Hmm…” Jaskier thinks on it for a minute. “Ladybug suits her, I would say.”</p><p>“Ladybug? Why?”</p><p>“Ahh,” Priscilla giggles. “To match a horse I know of.”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaskier huffs, trying and failing to keep a straight face. “I just think it’s rather cute.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s adorable,” Shani says with a smile.</p><p>“Very well. Miss Ladybug, can you carry a thank you message to our dear Yennefer for us?” Priscilla asks the bird. Ladybug makes a chirping noise and seems to understand, offering  her talon up to Priscilla to place a rolled piece of parchment in the receptacle.</p><p>“We’ll have to write it first, don’t get ahead of yourself,” Jaskier says. Shani turns to a new page in her notebook and dips her quill in ink, ready to begin writing the letter.</p><p>The awful weather can’t cloud the sudden bright energy in the room as the three begin to craft a letter to the surly sorceress to thank her. Ladybug perches on the back of a chair as the three crowd around Shani’s bed, offering ideas of what to say to the powerful woman who provided them this magical gift. They write and rewrite well into the evening, studies all but forgotten until their empty stomachs remind them they need to get to the dining hall before the kitchens close and then back to work.</p><p>Outside, as the sun goes down, the rain turns to pure white snow.</p><p>--</p><p>Geralt of Rivia climbs the precarious mountain path on foot, leading Roach by the reins as they navigate over stones and muddy trails and fallen tree branches. There’s a heavy chill in the air. Her saddlebags are packed full of potion brewing supplies, alcohol, oddities, and whetstones, and Geralt is ready for winter with the other Wolves.</p><p>Not too far off in the distance, the ruined shape of the old fortress rises beyond the tree line. He’s a bit later than he planned on being, due to a run-in with several bruxae, but his coin purse is a little heavier for his trouble and he’s got extra bruxa teeth in his pack to make a new decoction from, so the crunch of dead leaves and a fine layer of first snow under his boot is hardly vexing.</p><p>As he makes it to the front gates, he hears a whooping shout from inside, and after a moment he sees the doors open and Coen is waving at him. He knows that among the several other witchers wintering at Kaer Morhen, certainly Eskel and Lambert will already be in the main hall. He stables Roach first, giving her a good brushing and letting her graze with the other horses before carrying his supplies through the courtyard.</p><p>In the yard, several witchers are already sparring or have been put to work by Vesemir, repairing walls and fixtures. Some of them acknowledge Geralt with a nod or a grin, but he doesn’t pause until he reaches the door where Coen is standing with his hands on his hips.</p><p>“Geralt!” Coen exclaims. “You’re late, brother!”</p><p>“Couldn’t be helped,” Geralt replies. “I passed through Daevon and they had a bruxae infestation. Didn’t seem right to leave them with it.”</p><p>“Hmm, I can relate. Lot of vampires this year, wouldn’t you say?”</p><p>“I’d agree with that,” Geralt says, pointedly avoiding thinking about the vampire in the Oxenfurt sewers back in early spring, and all the complications that arose from the contract.</p><p>“Oy! Is that the <em>White Wolf </em>I hear?” a rowdy voice shouts from within. Lambert, naturally. Geralt groans; of course some of the others had heard the fucking song. “Get your ass inside, Geralt!”</p><p>Geralt sighs heavily and tilts his head back, looking up at the grey and cloudy sky. He briefly wonders how bad it would really be to wander the Path all winter long instead of subjecting himself to his brothers’ inevitable teasing.</p><p>But even as he looks, high up in the Kaedweni mountains as they are, it’s begun to snow in fat, fluffy snowflakes that cling to every surface. By nightfall the courtyard will be coated in snow, and in the morning after breakfast they’ll have to clear the training grounds before they begin any exercises.</p><p> Geralt heaves a great sigh and follows his brother inside, shutting the doors behind him as he goes. He suspects it’s going to be a long winter.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>as always please let me know what you thought. I crave attention.</p><p>Amazing Devil songs featured in this chapter include: Pray, Shower Day</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 4. I'll cry sail to foreign lands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IT WAS A LONG WINTER AND I HAVE RETURNED! I've been very energized since they finished filming season 2 of the Netflix show. (this chapter has also not been beta read, all mistakes are my own.) have at it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lettenhove is situated in the northeast of Kerack, just below the border into Cidaris. The winters are fairly mild, though it always snows, and the roads out of the regions are constantly in need of clearing to maintain trade and supply lines. This constant coordination and negotiation takes a lot of Jaskier’s father’s attention in the winters, and so Jaskier is able to avoid the man for nearly five days after his arrival at the estate, which makes the days bearable.</p><p>He mostly hides in the stables and the library and the kitchens or manages to sneak into town to frequent the taverns, taking his meals in his rooms or in the many fine establishments nearby that are all too pleased to serve dinner to their viscount’s son.</p><p>On the sixth day, Jaskier sits at his desk, staring at the several balled-up parchment pages he’s already tossed out. He’s sent Ladybug off with letters for both Shani and Priscilla, and received mail back from both women already, but he’s struggling to compose a letter to Geralt. What is he to say? He misses the witcher? Hopes his winter is proceeding normally? Do witchers celebrate Yuletide? Does Geralt enjoy his time with his family? Do witchers consider each other family the same way humans do?</p><p>The door opens without a knock and a pair of heels clack on the wooden floor as he turns with a groan.</p><p>“Surely by now you know you can’t just wander into a gentleman’s rooms without a warning,” he says with a sigh, glancing at his younger sister.</p><p>“Fortunately for me, <em>dearest</em> Julian, there aren’t any gentlemen in here,” she replies with a false sweetness to which Jaskier is all too accustomed.</p><p>Agnieszka is the youngest Pankratz child at seventeen, with full pink cheeks and soft brown hair that curls elegantly down her back and bright blue eyes that mirror Jaskier’s. When they were young, Jaskier and Agnes got along swimmingly. She would pilfer treats from the kitchen and then sneak into his bedroom at night, bartering her cookies for his made up stories and songs. But eventually Jaskier was sent away to boarding school and when he came home the first winter after, he discovered his little sister had become a young lady, more interested in romance and finery than the little tales he came up with to amuse her.</p><p>“What do you <em>want</em>, Agnes?” Jaskier asks, giving her a scowl even Geralt would have to be a little impressed by.</p><p>“Mother told me to fetch you for dinner,” she answers airily. “She says you’re to dress yourself properly.”</p><p>“What a treat,” he grumbles, rising from his seat to wander towards his closet. He glances over the high-collared doublets left clean and hanging for him by the laundress, and he chooses one embroidered with gold and red threads.</p><p>“Writing songs?” Agnes asks from the other room. “Are they even any good?”</p><p>“You used to think so.”</p><p>“I was a child. Fortunately for you Marcy is coming with her children tonight, so you’ll still have someone at dinner you might impress.”</p><p>Their older sister, Marcelina, is an ambitious woman, ready and determined to take over the role of viscount when their father is ready to abdicate it. Unfortunately for everyone, Viscount Pankratz is something of a traditionalist, and would prefer for his only son to agree to accept the role instead. Jaskier has no intention of throwing his life away to govern Lettenhove, to sit day in and day out in the estate halls and see the world happen on the other side of the panes of colored glass. And moreover he has no intention of crossing Marcelina, who is intelligent, capable, and prepared for the position. It’s always been a thorn in the side of their relationship, but Jaskier still cares for both his sisters, and he knows in their own ways they feel the same for him.</p><p>He wanders back into the room, his collar buttoned all the way up his throat, squeezing uncomfortably. Agnieszka has seated herself at the desk, apparently admiring the trim of her own fingernails, picking at them idly until she glances up at him through her dark, pretty lashes.</p><p>“Ready for some family bonding?” she asks with a smirk. He laughs.</p><p>“Who wouldn’t be?”</p><p>The pair of them walk through the halls to the dining room, Agnes talking about her schooling and the courtly parties she’s been attending recently. Jaskier tells her about winning second place at the autumn festival in Oxenfurt (conveniently leaving out any information about magic, curses, witchers, and sorceresses) and befriending Priscilla. He’s forgotten how much he does enjoy chatting with her, despite their differences. They’re still very similar in many ways.</p><p>In the dining room, Viscount Pankratz’s seat at the head of the table is empty. Jasker’s mother sits beside it looking stuffy and boring and vacant, as she more or less always has. On the other side is Marcelina, and next to her is her husband Mikkel, a rather unambitious man from a good family whose greatest joy in life aside from their marriage has been parenting their three young children. It’s a tad unconventional, but they are happy together, which is far more than Jaskier’s parents could truly say, and for that Jaskier is glad.</p><p>“Uncle Julian!” shouts Marcelina’s oldest, a six-year-old named Szymon. The younger two are twins, a boy and a girl, Leon and Zuzanna, and their little faces light up when he enters the room. The three children launch themselves from their seats towards the door and jump at him, wrapping their little arms around Jaskier’s legs and squeezing tight.</p><p>“We missed you!” Leon exclaims, red-faced and chubby-cheeked.</p><p>“I missed you too!” Jaskier says. With his nephews and niece so jubilant, it’s easy to forget his mother sitting there; he really does love the children, and though he has less than no interest in a child of his own, he enjoys telling them stories and singing to them and hearing their own attempts at music and rhyme. Zuzanna, in his opinion, has the early signs of a natural talent for poetry.</p><p>“Uncle Julian, Uncle Julian!” shouts Zuzanna, tugging at his trousers until he meets her eager gaze.</p><p>“Yes, darling?”</p><p>“I made a poem for you! About, about how I seed a flower! It was yellow! Like the ones you like!”</p><p>“You <em>saw</em> a flower, my love,” Mikkel corrects from his chair, rising with a genial smile to greet Jaskier and to pull the children off of him. “You did not <em>seed </em>it.”</p><p>“Yeah! I <em>sawww </em>it!” she corrects, beaming as her father lifts her and places her back in her seat at the table.</p><p>“Sit here!” Szymon demands, pointing at the empty seat beside him. “Sit next to me, Uncle Julian!”</p><p>“All right, all right,” Jaskier answers with a laugh, taking a seat beside his oldest nephew.</p><p>“How are you, dear?” his mother asks primly.</p><p>“I’m well, Mother,” he replies. “The trip home was uneventful.”</p><p>“Grandmother, Uncle Julian didn’t come home in the summer,” Szymon pouts. “You said he would come and he didn’t!”</p><p>Jaskier feels a mild pang of guilt. It had been the absolute best summer of his life, but not without cost. Of course he couldn’t tell his family anything about what he’d actually been doing, just that he had acquired a position as a research assistant for one of his professors and that it would keep him in Oxenfurt over the summer. This was, to be fair, entirely true until Geralt came along. As such, he had to be sure not to make a big withdrawal from the coffers he’d been granted for use while at school for fear of his parents finding out, which had led to a rather miserly season, though Geralt hardly seemed to notice or care, and it hadn’t ended up mattering much in the end.</p><p>But as Szymon frowns at him, big brown cow-eyes staring at him sadly, he does feel a little bad about lying, if only for the children’s sakes.</p><p>“I had a very important job to do,” Jaskier replies. “I would have loved to come home to play with you, dear, but my professor needed my help for a special project.”</p><p>“What <em>was</em> the project, anyway, Julian?” Agnes asks as she sips wine in her seat on the other side of the table near their mother.</p><p>Jaskier falters for a moment, trying to remember what Professor Olson had been researching. “Err, it was about the application of ancient musical structure to, um, spellweaving by mages. Based on texts uncovered from a crypt in… Kovir, it was. We consulted with a student from Ban Ard.”</p><p>“How <em>interesting</em>!” Agnes says, smiling in a way that Jaskier doesn’t trust in the slightest, though he doesn’t know why. “Could you tell us about how your research went?”</p><p>Fortunately, Jaskier doesn’t have to come up with a convincing lie, because Marcelina shushes them both and turns her gaze to the door where the viscount walks through, signing his name on a document that he hands off to an assistant before straightening his coat and walking into the dining room.</p><p>Jaskier’s father always carries a severe expression on his face, which Jaskier finds a little silly considering the relatively minor position he carries in Kerack as Viscount of Lettenhove. But he’s always been this way, as long as Jaskier can recall, serious and cold and unapproachable, always just short of proud of his children and grandchildren no matter what they may achieve or strive for.</p><p>“I apologize for keeping everyone waiting,” he says as he makes his way to the head of the table, stopping to kiss his wife chastely on the cheek before he sits. “The ice on the Adalette has been hard to clear this season, and the small ships aren’t getting through. We’ve had to coordinate with Cidaris for ice-breaking supplies and men.”</p><p>“No wonder you’ve been so busy, Father,” says Marcelina dutifully. “The Baroness du Vole is often unwilling to provide support that doesn’t benefit her directly.”</p><p>Jaskier sees the corner of their father’s mouth tilt up just slightly, the closest he ever gets to approval.</p><p>“That’s right,” he replies. “She cares little for affairs beyond her country’s borders. Or if our citizens have trade to keep them alive.”</p><p>“Their entire country owes its prosperity to its portside trade, and she won’t lift a hand to help her allies. Surely she understands that resisting our request for help will only hurt her people in the spring.”</p><p>Jaskier sighs, glancing over at the large windows lining the far wall, looking out onto the snow-coated gardens. He has a mind for history, courtly manners, noble gossip, and regional politics, but he doesn’t care for the day-to-day minutiae required to be an efficient viscount, nor does he care to develop the skill.</p><p>“Julian,” his father says sharply.</p><p>“Er, yes, sir,” Jaskier replies, regretfully unable to escape his father’s attention any longer.</p><p>“Would you like to tell your sister how to find a solution to working with a leader who will not negotiate?”</p><p>Jaskier glances at his father’s stern, expectant face, and that of his older sister. Marcelina’s face is like a portrait, perfectly still. In her eyes Jaskier can see bitterness and disappointment; she knows the answer, has studied and practiced and debated and learned, but still their father wants Jaskier to speak over her.</p><p>“I wouldn’t,” Jaskier says at last. “I think that Marcy knows the solution, as she’s studied so diligently under your tutelage.”</p><p>He knows this will earn him his father’s ire, but it’s worth it to see the faintly detectible relief and gratitude on his older sister’s face.</p><p>“Very well. Marcelina, how should we approach the Baroness?”</p><p>Marcelina smiles. “Simple. Offer her something she needs. It’s winter and the fishers aren’t bringing anything in for her markets. Perhaps if she assists in clearing the ice along the river, we allow her to take a small percentage of the tax for foreign traders sailing through, for example.”</p><p>Their father nods, considering. He begrudgingly says, “Yes, that’s what we’ll be doing.” His eyes dart over to Jaskier unhappily. “And Julian. If you can’t work in matters of state, what good is that very expensive tuition I’ve been paying for? How are your studies progressing?”</p><p>Jaskier feels a shiver down his spine, unhappy as ever to have the full attention of his father.</p><p>“Well, this semester I had a Redanian royal history class that I received top marks in, and I am still on track to receive my mastery of the seven liberal arts… Aside from my work over the summer, I also assisted in a research venture in local folklore and its application to modern alchemical findings.”</p><p>The last one is a stretch, but he’s sure that if he really had to, he could convince Yennefer to lie for him. The viscount is clearly disappointed; he’s never wanted Jaskier to pursue bardic arts, but he allowed it so long as Jaskier kept up with history and politics on the side. It was an easy agreement for Jaskier to make, happy to be far from Lettenhove and studying music and poetry as he’d always dreamed.</p><p>“Perhaps Julian could perform one of his songs for us?” suggests Jaskier’s mother.</p><p>“I’m not interested in hearing them,” his father replies. “What use will they be for his future?”</p><p>“I’d like to hear one,” Marcelina says. “I’m sure they’re lovely.”</p><p>“No. It’s time for us to eat.”</p><p>The meal itself is delicious, of course, with ingredients brought in from all over the Continent, but Jaskier can barely taste any of it. He never really feels himself here, especially not in the presence of his father. He’d never really known what it was like to feel as oneself until his first days at Oxenfurt, spending time with likeminded peers and learning from seasoned masters of his desired field. It was such a wonderful change that being dragged back to Lettenhove twice a year now feels like the world has gone grey, all the color sucked out, and the near-endless white snow certainly doesn’t help any of that.</p><p>When they’ve finished dessert and their father leaves to return to his office, Jaskier makes his own escape back to his rooms where he picks up the quill and begins to write out a message to Geralt, this time without pausing to consider whether or not he has anything to say that will interest the witcher.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Geralt,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope your winter is enjoyable thus far. I’ve no idea what it is you might be doing up in the mountains, but surely it must be better than how it is down in Kerack. The weather is unforgiving and that leaves me stuck inside with only my family for company. I get along well enough with my younger sister, though I find us to be far too similar, but my older sister is far too serious. You would probably like her, I think, if only because she thinks before she speaks every time she talks.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Perhaps it may surprise you, but my father does not approve of my study of music. He finds it to be pointless, and unsuitable for a man of my standing. I’ve never understood that; music is enjoyed by people of all different backgrounds, so why ever should it not be played by them? He wishes for me to become viscount after him someday, but I strongly feel I’d make a poor ruler. My older sister, Marcelina, is far more suited to it, and moreover it’s what she wants.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I suppose only witchers are allowed up at your Kaer Morhen. I do hope you’re having a good time with your brothers, as you call them. I must confess I’ve been daydreaming quite a bit about being there rather than here. Truly, I daydream about being anywhere at all rather than here. But just the same, I prefer your irritated acceptance over my over anything here in Lettenhove.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jaskier</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--</em>
</p><p>It’s a boring first few days at Kaer Morhen, all things considered. Witchers are used to life on the road, always moving, chaotic, and frequently life-threatening. The first week or so of wintering at the keep is always morosely stagnant, in Geralt’s opinion, having to adapt once again to spending an extended period of time sitting still in a safe place.</p><p>Not a safe and <em>quiet </em>place, however. It’s true at times the conversation dies down, witchers retreat to their lodgings or head out to the woods to hunt for dinner, groups may gather to talk casually and quietly. The rare pair of lovers might sneak away midday to spend quality time alone together—Lambert and his partner Aiden, a witcher from the School of the Cat, for example—but there’s a lot of <em>talking, </em>overall.</p><p>Trouble arrives one evening, just as the witchers are sitting down to a hearty meal of venison and roasted vegetables. Vesemir and the other trainers were never any great cooks, but even witchers enjoy a better meal at home than on the road. Eskel and Coen hunted the huge buck out in the woods, and brought it back that morning to be skinned and prepared to eat. The rest of its parts will be incorporated into alchemical works or sold off to merchants when the witchers all return to the Path in the spring.</p><p>There’s a loud squawking as an oversized raven flies in through an open window and lands itself on a nearby armor stand, perched on the shoulder and staring directly at Geralt expectantly.</p><p>“Whose bird is that?” an older witcher asks, pointing at it with his fork before scooping more potatoes into his mouth.</p><p>Geralt grimaces; in the past Yennefer occasionally sent letters to him this way, and it’s usually for an annoying reason. Wordlessly, he rises from his seat and eyes the leather receptacle warily. The bird holds its foot out for Geralt to take the message, and once he does, it squawks again and then flies over to the table to begin picking at the bits of meat left on the discarded deer ribs.</p><p>“What does Yennefer want now?” Coen asks with a laugh.</p><p>But the letter isn’t from Yennefer. (The bird most definitely is.) Geralt can tell without reading it that it’s from Jaskier. Since summer, that same block of chamomile soap has sat at the bottom of Geralt’s pack, and now half of his things smell faintly of Jaskier. This letter smells like him too. The parchment is nice and neat, and sealed with vibrant blue-pigmented wax. Geralt sticks it in his pocket quickly and returns to his seat at the table. The bird flies back out the window just as quickly as it arrived, a small bone in its mouth pilfered as a prize for a successful delivery.</p><p>“What’s wrong, Yen need you to move some furniture around or something? Do a bit of heavy lifting?” Eskel teases. Geralt rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Be nice, Eskel,” Lambert says mockingly. “We all know Geralt would rather be shacked up with the sorceresses than spending his winter with us.”</p><p>“Easy for you to say. You have Aiden here,” Geralt replies. Aiden just smirks and drinks his ale, looking absolutely delighted at the banter. Lambert’s face flushes and he glares at Geralt in a way that implies they may have to settle it by knocking each other senseless in a training match the following day.</p><p>Dinner concludes and the table is cleared only so more drink can be brought out; Eskel brewed some White Gull that he pours generously and Vesemir brings out an aged mead from his private collection. It’s not long before the table is full of drunk witchers loudly boasting over new scars, telling stories of difficult hunts, and swapping new information about their various prey. Eskel drunkenly speaks of a strange form of werewolf he killed in the spring, claiming it to be twice the size of those he’d slain in the past, and discusses its unusual phenotype with an older Bear witcher who nods gravely as he listens. Lambert goes on about a cockatrice he and Aiden had tracked through the forests of Kaedwen, large and monstrous, before finally trapping it in a rocky cave and finishing it off together. The older witchers tell their own stories, old ones, from before Geralt and his brothers had even been born.</p><p>The tales almost remind Geralt of Jaskier’s storytelling, though witchers tend not to embellish or outright lie about their feats, and he knows if Jaskier were here he’d been scribbling furiously in his notebooks, trying desperately to keep up with every detail, his tongue poking out of his mouth absentmindedly—</p><p>“Now, then. Geralt, I think it’s time you explained yourself,” one of the older witchers pipes up, deep in his cups. “It’s been days, and we’d all like to know what that song was about.”</p><p>“You’re killing ‘devils’ now, I take it?” Aiden adds.</p><p>Geralt grimaces, the taste of ale suddenly gone sour in his mouth. He had dreaded this, but at the same time it is tradition, and he can’t deny his fellow witchers an answer to what was almost certainly a puzzling element of their year.</p><p>“There was a bard,” he says hesitantly, taking another swig of his drink before continuing. “A student at Oxenfurt. He started following me around in the summer—“</p><p>“Why the <em>fuck—“</em></p><p>“Lambert, shut your fucking mouth and let me talk,” Geralt growls. Lambert crosses his arms and rolls his eyes petulantly. “We were in Posada and a farmer claimed there was a devil stealing his crops.”</p><p>“And there’s no such thing as devils,” Eskel extrapolates.</p><p>“Obviously. Still, he had coin, so I went. It was a sylvan, stealing food for a group of elves clinging to the area. They caught me unaware, captured us, threatened to kill us. I convinced them to let us go. They did. The bard wrote a song lying about the whole mess. He played it everywhere we went. Then he went back to Redania.”</p><p>“<em>You</em>, caught unaware, Geralt?” Vesemir says wonderingly. Geralt forcibly suppresses a flush from spreading across his cheeks. Of course Vesemir would notice that part of the story.</p><p>“Quite the song though,” Coen points out. “I’ll admit, anywhere I heard it played, they parted with their coin far easier.”</p><p>Eskel adds, “A farmer actually let me sleep in their barn. For free.”</p><p>Other witchers at the table nod in agreement; overall, the places Jaskier’s stupid song spread had in fact begun to regard witchers with some modicum of respect and less outright terror and hate. Geralt takes this knowledge to heart, even acknowledging that Jaskier had been right about the lies—respect doesn’t make history. But it does get lowly mutants a safe place to sleep and coin for their purses.</p><p>Later, Geralt retreats to his room. Witcher rooms are tiny, no more than a bed, a desk, a hearth, and a tub (assuming said witcher is willing to put in the effort to carry one up the many steps of the spire to their quarters, which Geralt always is).  When Geralt opens the door, the raven is perched on the desk, preening its feathers. It regards him with some measure of familiarity when he enters the room and with a sigh, he closes the door behind him and sits down on the bed.</p><p>He grew up in this room. Went through the Trial of the Grasses, the changes. Slept when he could, other nights lay awake in agony as his bones, his muscles, his eyes, his mind, the very cells of him were mutated into something beyond human, something more akin to the monsters he was training to fight. He once shared the room with other boys from his group, including Eskel, but as the mutagens were introduced and there were fewer boys that survived, eventually it became his alone. However, the room bears no signs of his personal effects—witchers have none, generally, aside from the occasional keepsake, and those Geralt keeps in his pack. There are dusty alchemy tools on the desk, in the same place he’d left them the winter prior. The window is open and looks out over the snowy forest beyond the keep.</p><p>The raven squawks at him once, as if to remind him he’s received mail, and he pulls the parchment from his pocket and slices the seal open with a bootknife. He already knows it’s from Jaskier by scent alone, but seeing the bard’s scrawling handwriting warms his chest. Alone in this room he lets the feeling pass over him and considers it carefully like an outsider looking at it through glass.</p><p>He is glad to receive a letter from the other man, pleased to know that even when they’re apart Jaskier is thinking of him and wants to say things to him. He is also a bit annoyed, because certainly the raven is Yennefer’s doing, and that means she is continuing to meddle.</p><p>The letter details how little Jaskier is enjoying his season in Kerack, most notably his time with his viscount father, who apparently does not care at all for Jaskier’s bardic arts. Geralt is a little surprised to hear that, but then, he thinks of Jaskier counting his coins so carefully when renting at an inn despite his fine clothes and expensive education, of Jaskier doing anything he can to stay out of Lettenhove in the summer, and it clicks into place. Jaskier would never have given himself a new name if he cared about the attachments of the old one.</p><p>Geralt is surprised at how angry he feels, that Jaskier’s family doesn’t appreciate the talent and skill he enacts in writing and performing music—music with power, that changes people’s minds and hearts, that in less than half a year has spread over the Continent and become a common tune humans hum under their breath without thinking. If it’s obvious to Geralt, surely it must be apparent to the viscount.</p><p><em> I must confess I’ve been daydreaming quite a bit about being there, </em>the letter says. <em>Yours, </em>the letter says. And maybe it’s the strong scent of chamomile and sandalwood but Geralt can almost see it in his head. Arriving at Kaer Morhen with Jaskier in tow complaining about the cold, Jaskier writing in his notebook, Jaskier wrapped up in bear furs by the fire in the main hall, Jaskier sprawled out on this bed—</p><p>Geralt shakes his head, bringing himself back to his senses. It’s ridiculous to even consider it. Vesemir and his brothers tolerate Yen and Triss, sorceresses, who are powerful and long-living, but a human? A chatty, nosy, loud, annoying human who might write loud, untrue songs about the things witchers tell each other? Vesemir would certainly be displeased, to say the least. The raven squawks again, eyeing him with an intelligent gaze.</p><p>“You’re not going to leave until I give you something to bring back, are you?” he asks. It dips its head under its wing to preen the feathers there, but the answer is clear—he has to say <em>something</em>, or Yen’s stupid bird isn’t going to leave him alone. “Fine,” he grumbles, and stalks back out the door and trudges down the hallway to the library. There are a few witchers therein, reading new books or making notes in old ones, and they pay him no mind as he manages to hunt down a few scrap pieces of parchment and some ink and quills. He doesn’t do much writing, truthfully, able to memorize a great deal of information and retain it long term—Geralt is unsure if this is another gift from the Trials or if it’s just a skill he was born with—and little need to write it down. The older witchers, Vesemir most notably, tend to record information about creatures and regions to preserve the information for the future.</p><p>Geralt thinks, <em>for future generations of witchers that will never come to be</em>. And it pangs him to know he is part of a dying breed as the world becomes less and less in need of monster hunters or mutants. Someday he will have no purpose at all, and he can only hope to either die or discover a new one before then. But at the same time, Geralt is relieved that no more children will die attempting the Trials, writhing and screaming in pain for a relief that only death can grant, their bodies twisting and growing and betraying them until their last breath, unable to withstand the mutagens.</p><p>He takes the stationary back to his room and sits down at the desk, swiping the alchemical instruments to the side to make room for the sheets of paper and the half-used inkwell he retrieved.</p><p><em>Dear Jaskier, </em>he writes.</p><p>Geralt frowns deeply, glaring at his own hand where it grips the quill. “Dear” feels too personal. He crumples the parchment into a ball and starts again.</p><p><em>Jaskier, </em>he tries once more.</p><p>
  <em>It’s quiet in the mountains, though my brothers are noisy. It’s good to spend time with them. I see them rarely. Occasionally we meet up along the Path. Usually I only see them in winter. Last year I did not see Lambert at all; he went south to spend the season with the School of the Cat witchers with his lover, Aiden. My other brothers, Eskel and Coen, are here every winter. Vesemir was our instructor when we went through the Trials, and he tends to the keep as best he can.</em>
</p><p>Geralt frowns at the letter. His sentences are boring and short and clunky, nothing like Jaskier’s pretty words at all. But then, Jaskier doesn’t seem to mind that, so he shrugs and continues to write.</p><p>
  <em>There are a few older witchers here this year. Some are from other schools but most of them are Wolves like me. I think you would be bored if you came here, but maybe I’m wrong and you would find it all very interesting. Sometimes I’m surprised by what you find interesting. I do not understand why you write songs about witchers. But the others have mentioned that hearing it eased their work, so even if your family doesn’t appreciate your talents as you say, the witchers walking the Path surely do.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I shudder to think of your poor mother if your younger sister is really just like you. Maybe you could stand to be a bit more like your older sister; it would be easier for me to keep you out of trouble that way.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Geralt</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--</em>
</p><p>Jaskier has to admit that his big, luxurious bed in his rooms at the estate is much, much more comfortable and lends itself much more to deep, restful sleep than the small narrow mattresses at Oxenfurt. (Though he still remains adamant that the best he ever slept was on a bedroll near a campfire under the stars.)</p><p>He dreams that he’s in his dormitory room with Shani and she is humming the tune of <em>Toss a Coin </em>as they sit together, but then he’s instantly overcome with a sense of terrible dread. The walls fall away and everything is dark, like the night sky without a single star. He tries to say something to Shani but finds he cannot speak at all. Suddenly he’s plummeting down into an abyss as Shani tries and fails to catch him, and then his eyes snap open, and he’s awake in his bed in Lettenhove.</p><p>He can still hear the humming.</p><p>“OH, <em>FUCK</em>,” he exclaims.</p><p>Agnieszka is sitting at the vanity beside his bed, admiring her own reflection and humming a song she should absolutely not know, smiling at her appearance in the mirror as she does so. His younger sister makes a big show of glancing over at the bed, the picture of innocence, and he sits up and stares at her with trepidation, heart pounding.</p><p> “Good morning, dearest Julian,” Agnes says, grinning sweetly at him. “You know, I heard the most interesting story from my lovely friend Greta this past summer. She had been returning home from a visit with her grandparents in Lyria, you see, and her carriage happened to stop at a tavern to rest for the night.”</p><p>“Is that so,” Jaskier replies numbly. It’s over. He’ll either be thrown out of the house, cut off from the resources to finish his education, or far worse, he’ll be made to finish his studies in Kerack, trapped forever in the mundane estate in Lettenhove.</p><p>“It <em>is</em>! And she told me that in the evening there, she heard a wonderful performance from a… <em>humble </em>traveling bard<em>.</em> And he sang <em>such</em> an interesting song about a witcher. And then, lo and behold, not very long after, a witcher came in from the night carrying a monster’s ghastly head in a sack! Could you even imagine?”</p><p>Jaskier is too busy imagining an escape route past the estate’s guards and servants. Where will he go? He’s nowhere near ready to start out on the road with no plan, no companions, no supplies, his training unfinished. Could he go find Shani, ask her for help? Maybe Priscilla would have some idea of what to do.</p><p>Agnes continues, “And this witcher was none other than the terrible, hideous Butcher of Blaviken.”</p><p>“Don’t call him that!” Jaskier snaps angrily, throwing his blankets off and putting himself right in Agnieszka’s space, pointing his finger accusingly. “You have no idea what he’s like. You can’t—“</p><p>“Oh, Julian, how strange,” Agnes answers, ignoring his outburst. “I had <em>no idea </em>you were enamored of a witcher, or that you were not, in fact, working for your professor in Oxenfurt last summer. But I digress. Greta <em>did</em> hear this bard play that catchy song and she sang it all the way home, and then sang it to me over tea while she told me this marvelous little tale.” She smiles brightly at him, blue eyes bright with a familiar trouble-causing mischief.</p><p>“Who did you tell?” he asks quietly.</p><p>“No one,” she replies.</p><p>Jaskier takes a step back from her, feels his heartrate begin to settle.  “Why not?” he asks.</p><p>“Because I need you to do something for me.”</p><p>“So it’s blackmail, then?”</p><p>“That’s the way of it, I’m afraid.”</p><p>Jaskier lets out a deep sigh and sinks down on the edge of his bed before flopping back to stare at the ceiling, glaring at the gilded patterns on the dark wood.</p><p>“Fine then,” he says tersely. “What do you want?”</p><p>“Let me tell you another story,” Agnes says. He hears her stand and then take a seat beside him, mirroring his movement to lie next to him.</p><p>“I thought you were too old for stories,” he murmurs, turning to look at his sister coldly. Side by side like this he’s reminded of when they were children, hidden under his covers eating stolen pastries and whispering faerie tales to each other.</p><p>“Not all of them. You see, there’s a man from Cidaris that father would like for me to marry. His family is rich, he recently inherited his father’s dukedom, and he’s a member of the king’s court. It would benefit both our families if I were to marry him.”</p><p>“That doesn’t sound so terrible.”</p><p>“That’s easy for you to say,” Agnes says with a scowl. “I’m not the smartest like Marcy. I’m not talented like you. I’m the youngest daughter of a minor viscount. It would be best for everyone if I were to marry a rich nobleman from the next country over. I would be financially settled and it would potentially open new trade deals for Kerack. It’s terribly old-fashioned. But I’m not a chess piece, Julian. You value your freedom so highly, and yet you think me worthy of none?”</p><p>“Sorry,” he murmurs guiltily. “So what is it <em>you</em> want to do?”</p><p>She says, “I met the most darling gentleman from Toussant at a soiree last month, and I have been exchanging letters with him ever since. He is here accompanying his father, a winemaker who owns a large vineyard. Emeril is his name. He has asked me to go with him back to Beauclair, and I should like to say yes.”</p><p>Jaskier sighs and says, “But you can’t. Because of Father and the arranged marriage.”</p><p>“That’s right. But you see, my friend Annette will be throwing a ball to celebrate Yuletide next week at her family’s winter villa, and you will be there with me.”</p><p>“Oh, will I now?”</p><p>She snorts at him dismissively and then sings, “<em>When a humble bard graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia, along came this—</em>“</p><p>“Shut up!” He snaps at her. “Very well. What <em>ever</em> can I do, <em>darling</em> Agnes, to help you ditch one man and marry another?”</p><p>“It’s easy really,” Agnes replies. “All you have to do is convince Duke Mikolaj of Cidaris that he should wed the unmarried, unattached, very lovely Annette.”</p><p>Jaskier sits up again and glares down at Agnes. “How do you suppose I do that, Agnes? I’m a bard, not a mage.”</p><p>“Rumor has it Mikolaj once had an interest in Annette, before our fathers arranged the betrothal. You’re going to convince him to act on those feelings. Aren’t you supposed to be some master of romance, <em>Jaskier?</em>” she asks mockingly, rising once more to her feet. She drags out his chosen name between her teeth like she’s swearing, and it infuriates him.</p><p>“Do <em>not</em>—“</p><p>“You won’t be telling me what to do, dear brother. Here is my deal. You convince Annette and Mikolaj they should marry. I don’t care how. Mikolaj must be the one to call off our engagement. That way it will be easy for me to introduce Emeril to Father. And if you don’t, well, I’ll have no choice but to tell Father all about your very exciting summer he wouldn’t approve of, and your even more exciting lover—“</p><p>“Geralt isn’t!” Jaskier interrupts. “He’s not. My lover. He isn’t that.”</p><p>Agnes narrows her eyes at him. “But you want him to be,” she remarks almost gently. “I can see it in your eyes.”</p><p>“That isn’t… that’s not relevant to this situation.”</p><p>“It isn’t,” Agnes agrees. “But you know me, I am as curious as a cat. You must have followed him around all summer. You wrote songs about him. How could he not know? Does he just not like men?”</p><p>Jaskier shrugs. “It doesn’t matter, because he’s in love with a sorceress who will never want to be with him.”</p><p>“What a sad little triangle.”</p><p>“I suppose,” he says, chagrined. “It isn’t your problem to worry about though.”</p><p>She ignores him. “I mean, <em>really</em> Julian, a <em>witcher</em>? It’d be one thing if you wanted to marry, say, Mikolaj. Mikolaj isn’t a bad man by any stretch, after all. Father might not mind, it’s still a good family to marry into and you could always adopt. No one cares all that much for bloodlines these days anyway, and Marcy already has three children of her own. But a <em>witcher</em>? A mutant freak who wanders the world homeless and of no country, looking for the most dangerous and disgusting creatures alive? More monster than man, those ones.”</p><p>“He’s brave and he’s strong and he protects people from those dangerous creatures,” Jaskier hisses through his teeth. “He protects rotten people who show no gratitude, who call him names like <em>mutant </em>and <em>freak</em> and <em>monster </em>and <em>butcher</em>.”</p><p>Agnes flinches. “I—I didn’t mean it like that.”</p><p>“Oh, yes you very well did. I’ve learned that most people do. That’s why I wrote the song. Geralt is… he’s <em>good. </em>He’s actually worth singing about. I want to help him. Somehow. And this is all I know how to do.” He frowns, twists his hands together, just as sure as ever that this is his life’s work, more afraid than ever that he may not be allowed to complete it.</p><p>“Huh. You’ve changed, Julian.”</p><p>“Maybe I have,” he says. “I’ll do what you ask, Agnes. But don’t you dare talk about him. You don’t understand anything.”</p><p>She hesitates for a moment and then shrugs. “As you like. Do we have a deal, Julian? You get Mikolaj to marry someone else. It doesn’t even have to be Annette. In exchange, I tell no one about your little adventure. We both live the way we want to, and Father never has to know.”</p><p>“We have a deal, Agnieszka,” he says. “Now get the fuck out of my room.”</p><p>Agnes leaves without another word, closing the door quietly behind her. Once Jaskier is sure she’s out of his rooms and down the hall, he lets out a rather undignified shriek of rage and frustration, throwing himself back into his bed and yelling coarsely into the fabrics.</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>!”</p><p>He squeezes his eyes tight, burying his face in his pillow and tries not to cry. He clenches the linens in two irate fists, grits his teeth as he fights back angry tears.</p><p>“You will <em>not</em> cry,” he tells himself. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and several more, until he is able to calm himself again. Then he pulls himself up and marches from his bedroom to where his desk sits, still covered in parchment and ink, half-conceived songs of monster hunting and unrequited love.</p><p>Jaskier skims through his notes for something, anything that might help. He’s a bard, a connoisseur of romance and joy and emotion. Surely he can do something as simple as convince a man to abandon an arranged marriage.</p><p>He sits at his desk unmoving for hours, ignoring his growling stomach’s desire for breakfast, digging through all his material for the love song that will convince Mikolaj to follow his heart to Annette. He doesn’t stop until a now-familiar tapping starts at his window, and he looks up to see Ladybug attempting to get inside. His heart skips a beat as he realizes that this must be a letter from Geralt, and he quickly lets the bird in and seizes the parchment from her immediately.</p><p>The letter is plain, not even sealed shut, just rolled up and tied with a bit of twine. Jaskier smiles despite himself at how simple and utilitarian Geralt is even when writing letters to a friend. He unties it gently and unrolls the parchment.</p><p>His eyes rove over the simple handwriting. There are no frivolous sentences, just brief and to-the-point statements that Jaskier can practically hear Geralt saying aloud in his deep, raspy voice. He laughs at Geralt’s wonderings about Jaskier’s unusual subject matter. He doesn’t think being the first human to visit a secret witcher fortress would be boring at all; surely there are enough secrets and tomes and stories in Kaer Morhen to occupy him for a season—and even if there truly was nothing to do, he would still be with Geralt, warm and safe, and what else could he want in the heart of winter than that?</p><p>The last bit of the letter is true; if he ever thought before speaking at all, perhaps he wouldn’t be in such a mess with Agnes now. And Geralt is nowhere nearby to keep him out of trouble. No, Jaskier is certain he’ll have to get into quite a bit more trouble to save his own skin.</p><p>With a sigh, he pulls out a fresh piece of parchment and begins to write. Ladybug settles onto a plush pillow on a couch and dozes off.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Geralt,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s funny that you mention getting me out of trouble—I don’t suppose you might brave the winter in the north of the Continent to come get me, by any chance? It does seem like my big mouth has gotten me into peril already.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You see, my dear sweet little sister Agnieszka (we call her Agnes for short) has a friend who happened to cross our path last summer, and of course that means Agnes is blackmailing me because I did tell my family that I was doing that research job in Oxenfurt and they just wouldn’t be happy to hear about what I did instead.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That said, the task she’s blackmailing me into doing seems within my wheelhouse, hopefully. My parents have arranged her marriage to a man she has no desire to marry, and she’s tasked me with convincing him to break off their marriage, preferably by getting him to propose to someone else. And I’ll be doing this during a ball at that young lady’s family estate for Yuletide.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Do witchers celebrate Yule? Or the Festival of Light, like Shani? Or are there secret witcher holidays that no one knows about? You can tell me. I swear I won’t tell anyone about it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jaskier</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jaskier,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s incredible how quickly you managed to talk yourself into a problem. Agnes does seem to be just like you. It must be quite the headache for your sensible older sister. I should think that your great talent for plying romance like it’s a trade will be more than sufficient.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No, we don’t celebrate any human holidays. We do not have any secret holidays. And before you ask, no, we don’t do namedays either. I have on one occasion ended up in Vengerberg during Belletyn in the past. It was Yennefer’s fault and it was not on purpose.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Geralt</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dearest Geralt,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I thought perhaps a few heartfelt love songs might set the mood, and then all I might have to do is sweep in with drinks and get the pair of them talking. What could be simpler? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please, you must tell me the story of Yennefer and Belletyn. It sounds fascinating.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I apologize for the shortness of this letter; thought they say brevity is the soul of wit, I am sending this with Ladybug quickly, as I am off to watch Marcelina’s children perform a play they wrote. I’ll be sure to let you know how the performance turns out.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jaskier</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Jaskier,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If you insist. It was the second time I met Yennefer, three months after our first collision. She sent me a message calling me to Vengerberg. I went when she called. When I arrived, the city was covered in all kinds of flowers. People were wearing them in their hair and on their clothes. I realized it was some kind of celebration. When I finally met up with Yen, she was sitting with a small crowd of humans who were all hanging on her every word. She explained that their flower gardens had been damaged by some kind of monster ahead of the festival, and she insisted I find it and kill it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Much like the devil in the farmer’s field, the monster in the flower garden was no monster at all. It was a hungry goat that had escaped from its pasture and had itself a feast. I brought it back to Yennefer unharmed. She appeared to know all along that it was just a farm animal, thanked me for my work, and suggested heavily that I stay with her for the rest of the week’s festivities. At that time our connection was still fresh. I said yes. I celebrated Belletyn for the first and only time. It’s easier to say no to her now than it used to be. I don’t know what she did with the goat.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m sure your nephews will be thrilled to receive your notes when they finish their act.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>What is Ladybug?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Geralt</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My Very Dearest Witcher Geralt,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>First of all, I have two nephews and one niece. The girl is already learning the lute, and I have no doubt she’ll be outplaying me in no time. Second of all, I’m sad to report that thus far the boys have none of my talent for performance, and take after their father, who is more well-intentioned and kind than much of anything else. Still, there are worse traits to have. He’s a loving father, which already puts him ahead of mine. I was wondering; you refer to your fellow witchers as brothers, would you call Vesemir your father?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can’t say I don’t understand what you see in Yennefer, and I find her to be a true delight, but it does seem like she spends most of your relationship pulling you around like a dog on a leash, if you don’t mind my saying so. Well, even if you do mind, I suppose I’ve already said it, haven’t I?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ve never attended Belletyn in Aedirn, but in Oxenfurt there are a lot of meticulously arranged flowers everywhere and a great deal of merry dancing and music and heavy drinking. It’s a good time; perhaps you could join me this year, if you felt inclined. I surely wouldn’t mind seeing you in the spring.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ladybug is this very talented and generous raven that ferries our letters across the Continent, of course! Did you really think I wouldn’t name her?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jaskier</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Irksome Human Bard Jaskier,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shouldn’t you be focusing on your matchmaking skills, rather than my relationship with Yennefer? I don’t know where the Path will take me in the spring. And I might say that Vesemir is like a father, though I would never tell him to his face. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ladybug is a stupid name for a raven.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Geralt</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My Ever So Kind and Benevolent Witcher Geralt of Rivia,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ladybug is an excellent name for a raven; Roach is a stupid name for a horse. Not that our dear friend Roach is stupid; clearly she has more insight into the world than you. Are all witcher mounts named after insects?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My, isn’t “irksome” a big word for a man of so few of them! Well done, you! I’m quite impressed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I must confess something to you though, Geralt. When I realized Agnes had discovered my little secret, I was truly terrified. I imagined all the things my father might do to punish me. But just knowing that you see the value in my art (begrudgingly, I know, but you can’t fool me!) makes my heart lighter. I’m glad for having met you. Even if something terrible happens and I can never leave Lettenhove again, I’ll always be glad for it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours, whether you like it or not,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jaskier</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--</em>
</p><p>Geralt puts the letter down on his desk and looks at Ladybug, who stares back at him.</p><p>“A roach is also a kind of fish,” he tells her. She squawks in acknowledgment and busies herself with picking at the raw meat he left on a plate for her. He glances over the ever growing stack of letters and, before he can think better of it, lifts the latest one up to his nose and inhales deeply.</p><p>Beyond the ink and parchment scent is the chamomile of Jaskier’s favorite soap, and the scent of sandalwood that Geralt associates with the bard. With his eyes shut he can almost imagine Jaskier is there in the room instead of in Kerack, miles and miles of unpassable snow-covered land between them. He briefly entertains the consideration of having to actually rescue Jaskier from Kerack in the spring; it wouldn’t be impossible. There’s nothing to worry about.</p><p>This evening it’s snowing heavily over Kaer Morhen; he knows in the morning he and Eskel will need to clear the way to the stables so they can tend to the horses first thing. For now, he warms the tub in the corner of his room with Igni and strips down before climbing in, sinking down into the steaming hot water. He’s sore from crossing swords with Vesemir earlier in the day; the old master had decided to surprise his former students with a reminder about why he’s called the greatest swordsman the School of the Wolf has ever known, and to ensure his students had been keeping up with their footwork while traveling the Path. The bout ended with Geralt and Eskel flat on their backs in the snow, Coen twisting his ankle, and Lambert nursing a minor stab wound in his shoulder.</p><p>Geralt tilts his head back to wet his hair and he closes his eyes, unable to think of anything except the bard. On the Path there are plenty of distractions, issues to tend to, monsters to hunt and kill, places to go to distance himself. But cooped up here in the mountains, there’s little else to focus on. In the mornings he eats with his brothers and the other witchers, tends to the horses, trains or spars or reads. In the afternoons he meditates or hunts or helps fix walls around Kaer Morhen. In the evenings they eat together in the hall and talk and drink. At night, he rereads Jaskier’s letters like some lovelorn fool.</p><p>“Fuck,” he grumbles, irritated with himself. Then with a sigh he reaches for his pack and searches for one of his own bars of soap. He prefers his soap plain, without scent, to keep from irritating his sensitive nose. Instead he pulls out the chamomile by mistake from where it’s been for months. Geralt stares at it. The smell isn’t terribly strong, is pleasantly familiar even, and moreover his pack has begun to smell of chamomile as well.</p><p>He hesitates for a moment before dunking the soap under the water and running it along his arms and legs. He uses it to wash his hair. The scent is stronger now, and he again thinks unbidden of Jaskier using this soap, running it over his soft skin. Geralt knows he shouldn’t, really shouldn’t. He rubs it between his hands and runs the soap over his face and neck. He thinks about Jaskier doing the same. Pictures those long, dexterous fingers scouring over the bard’s chest hair and up his throat, cleaning away sweat and grime until he’s all pink-skinned and scrubbed clean everywhere. He groans softly at the thought, feels a familiar warmth low in his belly as his cock stirs with interest at his imaginings.</p><p><em>Well, who would know, anyway? It’s no one else’s business</em>, he convinces himself, getting his hand slippery with the chamomile soap and reaching down in the water to grip himself. It feels good, the warmth of the water, the steam rising off of it as he strokes himself off. The only thing he can smell is Jaskier, and with eyes shut he can almost imagine that it’s Jaskier’s hand on him instead, Jaskier bathing with him, Jaskier wanting him, intimate and comfortable.</p><p>Once in the summer on a particularly hot afternoon, Jaskier had stripped down to his smallclothes and swam in a river they’d come across, splashing happily in the sunshine. The water had glistened on him, and he’d tried to convince Geralt to join him in the river, but the witcher declined, not trusting himself so close to Jaskier that day.</p><p>“<em>Jaskier</em>,” Geralt grunts quietly, and bites down on his lower lip as he strokes himself, hand slick, the overpowering smell of chamomile filling the room. Eyes shut, he wonders if Jaskier would like this, would like bathing together, would like getting filthy together immediately afterwards. In this imagined moment, Jaskier would smile at him that look Geralt has seen a number of times before, pretty blue eyes filled with mischief, flirty and familiar. Jaskier would perhaps make a performance out of cleaning himself under Geralt’s lustful gaze, would stretch his neck to the side in invitation, would scrub the soap over his chest and down his belly slowly, warm water dripping through his soft brown hair and down his lithely muscled back.</p><p>Geralt’s movements grow faster and more erratic as he thinks about it, unable to maintain a steady rhythm. The room smells like chamomile and sandalwood and ink, like Jaskier. He wants to see Jaskier’s smirk as he moves enticingly and knowingly in the water, because of course Jaskier would know exactly what he does to Geralt in this hazy vision, would slyly offer to wash Geralt’s hair, and Geralt would say yes, and Jaskier would get his floral shampoo and slide his long fingers against Geralt’s scalp as he washed him, pressed up unnecessarily close to Geralt’s back, and Geralt would reach back just to touch him, and—</p><p> Geralt brings himself off at last, comes hard into his own hand, the bard’s name on the tip of his tongue.</p><p>Only after does he realize just what it is he’s done, and he becomes angry with himself right away. What a foolish, pathetic thing, getting himself off with the other man’s soap, to the idea that Jaskier would do this for him, with him. As if he has any right to such a fantasy.</p><p>The letters were clearly a mistake, making him too bold, too comfortable with perceived intimacy. He climbs out of the now-dirty water, reaching for the bath sheet and drying himself rough and quick before pulling his clothing back on and shoving the letters into his pocket.</p><p>Geralt is restless with guilt, yanks his socks and boots onto his feet to stalk angrily down the old spiraled stairs and through the main hall. There are some men scattered around the room in small groups, playing cards and drinking. He spies Lambert, Aiden, Eskel, and Coen at one spot looking like they’re having an entertaining conversation.</p><p>“Oy! It’s the White Wolf!” Lambert calls with a drunken cackle.</p><p>“Fuck off,” Geralt replies swiftly.</p><p>“Look what the cat dragged in,” Coen says with a smirk, already well on his way to inebriation.</p><p>“I haven’t dragged anyone anywhere,” Aiden replies.</p><p>“That joke is so fucking old,” Lambert complains. “Sit down and drink with us, Geralt.”</p><p>This time Geralt does, grabbing a stein and pouring it full of ale. He may as well continue distracting himself, he figures.</p><p>Eskel’s nostrils flare and Geralt knows what he’s scenting—the smell s of chamomile and spend. Generally witchers have enough manners to ignore what they can smell on each other, but Geralt knows his brothers are too many cups in for that kind of decency.</p><p>“Courting a new sorceress, Geralt?” Eskel asks with a laugh.</p><p>“No,” he mumbles, draining his drink in one go.</p><p>“Someone else, then?” Coen prompts. “Maybe that bard.”</p><p>“Couldn’t be,” Lambert says. “A singing, meddling human?”</p><p>“You have been sending those letters,” Aiden says. “I’ve seen you taking the parchment and ink from the library all week.”</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about it,” Geralt growls, opting to switch to straight vodka to get himself drunk faster.</p><p>“Aw, come on,” Lambert says. “You never do anything interesting, this is fun!”</p><p>“For you.”</p><p>“Yeah, exactly!”</p><p>Geralt sighs heavily, shaking his head as the others continue to interject far too close to the truth.</p><p>“Oh! You think maybe the human doesn’t know?”</p><p>“Of course he knows.  Just look at Geralt.”</p><p>“Humans can’t smell anything though, how would he know?”</p><p>“Shut <em>up</em>,” Geralt snaps. To most people, this would be a scary, intimidating command. To Geralt’s brothers, who have known him for so very long, it just makes them laugh uproariously, cackling loudly enough to annoy some of the other witchers in the room.</p><p>As the hour grows late, they get drunker, and eventually are the only ones still seated in the hall, the rest gone up to sleep or read or meditate or whatever other business they might wish. Fortunately, they move on from Geralt’s love life and on to the finer parts of heavy drinking.</p><p>“D’you remember…” Eskel says, pausing to burp loudly, “the winter Yennefer was here?”</p><p>“Mmmno. That was b’fore I met Lambert…” Aiden replies, speech slurring as he leans heavily on Lambert’s shoulder.</p><p>“Yeahhhh we were uh. We. Not a lotta witchers came. Was jus’ us and Vesemir and Yennefer,” Coen says. “She drank with us a bit but then she…  went to bed, right? An’ we thought uh… oh! We should use Yen’s crystals to call some more sorceresses…”</p><p>“Ohhh no,” Geralt groans. “Not this story.”</p><p>Eskel begins to giggle, which is strange on a man as tall and heavily muscled as Eskel is. “We thought uh, that we might scare them away, yeah, because we weren’t… weren’t Yennefer… so…” he dissolves into more laughter, unable to continue the story.</p><p>Lambert says, “We figured, maybe if we put on Yen’s clothes… we would uhhh… look less scary.”</p><p>“I looked pretty,” Coen protests. “M’not scary.”</p><p>“You looked pretty in the dress,” Eskel agrees. “But mine was… I ripped… ripped the sleeves on the blouse…”</p><p>“What? How?” Aiden asks with a laugh.</p><p>“Too strong arms,” Lambert says solemnly.</p><p>“He tried to get his arm through, mm, the sleeves of Yen’s dress,” Coen explains with a smirk, gesticulating with his free hand. “The fabric made this, this stretching sound an’ then it just… rrrrrrip! Tore right up the seams!”</p><p>Eskel frowns and looks down at his arms as if he’s disappointed in their size. “S’okay,” Geralt comforts him. “Yen thought it was funny in the end.”</p><p>Aiden cackles. “Did you actually call any of Yennefer’s sorceress friends?”</p><p>“No,” Lambert replies. “Couldn’t… figure out the megascope… Oh! Waitwaitwait. I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Lambert leaps up from the table with remarkable agility for a witcher so drunk, and so quickly that Aiden starts to tilt perilously towards the right without his lover to lean against. Coen reaches out and yanks Aiden upright, and Aiden pats his hand appreciatively.</p><p>“…There isn’t another megascope here somehow, right?” Eskel asks after a moment. Geralt ignores him and downs the rest of his drink before refilling it yet again. “So… Geralt…” Eskel says. “We’re all curious… tell us about uhhh… the bard.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Geralt says. He still thinks it’s a bad idea to discuss this, but he’s too drunk to stop himself from letting the words tumble from his mouth. “He’s a student at Oxenfurt like I said… met him in the spring, there was… a vampire… katakan? No. Nekurat. And he was… he’s handsome…  got strong hands…”</p><p>“Wait, was he um. Attacked? By the nekurat?” Aiden asks.</p><p>“No. It was in the sewers. Couldn’t get down to them without help or causing too much trouble. He got me into the sewers but then wouldn’t leave me alone. Hasn’t since. Wrote one song. Wanted to write more. Follows me around… sometimes… Yennefer likes ‘im. He sends me letters now…”</p><p>“When did he meet Yen?” Eskel asks.</p><p>“Long story,” Geralt says.</p><p>“Lemme see the letters,” Aiden demands. “I bet I can tell. If he loves you. From the letters.”</p><p>“Don’t spill anything on ‘em,” Geralt mumbles, pulling them out of his pocket and presenting them to his brothers. “S’a lot of letters. He writes ‘em ‘cause… ‘cause he likes me.”</p><p>The others pass the letters around the table, reading the letters as best they can in their heavy drunkenness.</p><p>“Oh… humans are weird,” Aiden says. “Why don’t they jus’ say what they mean?”</p><p>“We are not equipped to solve this problem!” Lambert shouts from the direction of the stairs. Geralt squints at him as his idiot brother stumbles back towards the table, holding something behind his back. “This is a job… for <em>Vesemir.”</em></p><p>Lambert then displays the object he’s holding behind his back—it’s a black hat with a wide, flat brim,  made of aged felt and clearly stained in several spots. Lambert flourishes the hat in the air and then pulls it onto his head with a smarmy grin.</p><p>“You kept that hat?” Geralt asks as he begins to laugh, unable to hold back.</p><p>“Yesssss. It’s mine now!” Lambert replies.</p><p>Eskel starts, “Lambert—“</p><p>“No!” Lambert exclaims with drunken enthusiasm, pointing at the hat on his head. “I’m <em>Vesemir!”</em></p><p>“Wherever has my partner gone?” Aiden asks, feigning forlornness. “Will I ever see him again?”</p><p>Eskel laughs so hard he almost falls off the bench, and Geralt watches as Lambert almost seems torn between reprising his old Vesemir impression and flirting with Aiden. Eventually he settles on the latter, sinking down onto the seat beside his lover and pouting as Coen grabs the hat and puts it crookedly on his own head. Lambert picks up one of Jaskier’s letters and reads it as best he can.</p><p>“All right, now <em>I’m </em>Vesemir,” Coen says. “I can fix the problem. I can fix aaaaaalllll the problems.This, ah, human, he’s confusing, right?”</p><p>“Yes,” Geralt agrees. “S’easy for you two.” He gestures at Lambert and Aiden. “Just scent each other. Easy.”</p><p>“Easy? With this bastard?” Aiden laughs, shoving Lambert who nearly falls from the bench, glares at him, and shoves back. Aiden just laughs again. “Don’t be mad. I love you.”</p><p>“Uhuh. Love you too,” Lambert mutters, still squinting at Jaskier’s handwriting.</p><p>Eskel hums. “Oh, I think he loves you.”</p><p>“Aiden does?”</p><p>“What? <em>No</em>. The bard.”</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt says. “I miss him. Should I though? It’s bad. Vesemir would be mad.”</p><p>“Humans are, uhh, employers, and expect us to protect ‘em from monsters,” Coen says in a terrible imitation of their old mentor. “Don’t think for onnnnneeee minute! That they feel anything towards you save for, uhh. Uhh. Mistrust.”</p><p>“Fuck what Vesemir says,” Lambert says with a frown, stealing the hat back off of Coen’s head. “That’s not true every time. And besides. It’s… it’s yourrrr… uhh… your…”</p><p>“Life,” Coen supplies.</p><p>“Yeah, that.”</p><p>Geralt shrugs. “Jaskier’s life… ‘s short.”</p><p>“Human,” Eskel agrees. “But he’ll make you happy. And you can… take care of him.”</p><p>“A bad idea,” Geralt says.</p><p>“You think everything is a bad idea,” Lambert complains.</p><p>“Everything <em>you</em> do <em>is </em>a bad idea.”</p><p>“<em>I’m </em>a bad idea,” Aiden says with a giggle. “Do me.”</p><p>“Not here!” Coen shouts, alarmed. “Take it upstairs!”</p><p>Geralt and Eskel laugh at Lambert and the rising flush across his cheeks that he’s too drunk to suppress. Aiden loops an arm over his lover’s shoulders and squeezes, looking delighted by Lambert’s embarrassment. He’s something of a menace, Aiden is, but Lambert’s been so much happier, more secure, and less prone to rash decisions and rage in the years they’ve been together, so Geralt likes the Cat witcher and is glad for his youngest brother to have found a good partner.</p><p>“Gimme ‘em back,” Geralt says, holding his hand out as the others return his letters to him. He sniffs them once, enjoying the chamomile, sandalwood, and ink smell. “What if. Next winter. He came here?”</p><p>Eskel’s smile slides off his face. “I dunno… Vesemir and the uh. The older ones. They might not like to see a human at Kaer Morhen. Especially not after… everything. Losing the Trials.”</p><p>Geralt’s shoulders slump. “I know. But… but the songs are… he’s very talented.”</p><p>“I know, I heard the song, I heard it.”</p><p>“No,” Geralt says. “There’s more songs. There’s one he wrote. He only played it once. I think. About baring his throat for me? And about wanting me to stay. And calling me a wolf.”</p><p>“Sexy,” Lambert pipes up, and Aiden shushes him.</p><p>“Except… it wasn’t about me. Just inspired… by when we met,” Geralt continues sadly. “He told me so.”</p><p>“Oh, he was lying,” Aiden says matter-of-factly.</p><p>“…What?”</p><p>“Obviously… you really think a human would write a song about baring his throat for a wolf, a metaphor for a man he probably wants to fuck, if he didn’t?” Geralt frowns. The vodka is doing its trick and he’s beginning to doubt his acceptance of Jaskier’s explanation. “Not just that,” Aiden adds. “I mean. The letters. It’s… obvious.”</p><p>“This is easy,” Coen says. “Did he ever smell like he wanted to fuck you?”</p><p>Geralt says, “Yes, but. It was adrenaline. Doesn’t mean he actually wants me specifically.”</p><p>“You can just ask?”</p><p>Geralt shrugs, helpless. He could ask. But the words get stuck between his teeth just considering it. He’s no good at words, never has been.</p><p>“What will the other humans in his life think?” Eskel points out. “Won’t he be ostr… os… ostracized?”</p><p>“Oh good point,” Aiden says. “They hate us. They’ll hate him for not hating us too.”</p><p>Lambert exclaims, “So what!? Geralt can protect him.”</p><p>“I can’t, Geralt says. “He’s so. Fragile. He’ll get hurt eventually. Can’t…”</p><p>Eskel sighs. “This’s why Vesemir always taught us not to get attached to humans.”</p><p>“He also said not to get attached to animals,” Lambert points out. “<em>Eskel.”</em></p><p>“Lil’ Bleater is <em>not </em>just any animal,” Eskel defends himself, squinting at the other witcher across the table.</p><p>Coen rolls his eyes. “A goat’s a goat, brother.”</p><p>“I should leave Jaskier alone,” Geralt says. “Right? Let him… it’s too dangerous. With me. He said he wants to come with me. But. The Path’s not good for humans.”</p><p>“Was it that difficult to keep him safe?” Coen asks.</p><p> “He got hurt because I failed. But with other humans…  <em>Jaskier </em>kept <em>me</em> safe,” Geralt says before he can stop himself. The other witchers eye him with confusion.</p><p>Aiden tilts his head. “I thought he was a bard?”</p><p>“He is. We visited a number of taverns and inns during the summer. Many humans tried to shortchange me, or kick me out. But every single time… he would stand between them and me. He would argue, he would play songs, he would… change their minds. Defended me. From the other humans.”</p><p>Eskel frowns. “Maybe you could just… visit him, from time to time? Keep him away from the Path.”</p><p>“…No. I can’t keep him,” Geralt mumbles. “S’not fair for him. He can have a whole life. What do I have to offer a human?”</p><p>The others don’t respond, eyeing Geralt with a familiar sadness. There are a great many things witchers aren’t permitted to keep. A family, a home, a normal life. A bed to die of old age in. Witchers shouldn’t expect any of that. To wish for it is foolishness, to let Jaskier give him hope for it is folly. Geralt should know better. It’s lonely on the Path. But it’s supposed to be. That’s what witchers are for.</p><p>“Gimme another vodka,” Geralt finally says, and his brothers perk up, eager to go back to something they’re all enthused about. For the rest of the evening they continue to drink, play some cards, Lambert steals the hat back and reprises his famous Vesemir impression, and they exchange increasingly drunken thoughts and stories until eventually they all pass out on the floor in the hall.</p><p>The next thing Geralt knows, someone is poking him insistently in the ribs with the toe of a boot. With a grunt, he forces his eyes open to see Vesemir standing above him looking a little fond but mostly exasperated.</p><p>“Some things don’t change, eh, Geralt?” he asks.</p><p>“Some things don’t,” Geralt agrees, turning his face back against the cool stone floor and groaning against the pounding in his head.</p><p>“Mmmnghghgh,” says Coen, who is sprawled out on the bench beside the table, one hand still clutching a mostly empty bottle of beer.</p><p>“Indeed,” Vesemir answers, satisfied that the pair of them are awake and moving away to bring Lambert and Aiden back to the waking world next.</p><p>“Anyone got some White Honey?” Coen asks, rolling himself from the bench onto the floor.</p><p>“Yes,” Geralt replies. “C’mon.”</p><p>Geralt pulls himself to his feet and then turns to help Coen up as well. The pair of them are well and truly hung over; distantly he is aware that Vesemir is getting a bucket of water to dump over Lambert and Aiden’s heads where they’re slumped against each other in the corner of the room. He’s pretty sure Eskel made it at least halfway back to his own room last night, a fact he confirms when they come across him passed out on the stairs.</p><p>“Eskel,” Geralt grunts, shaking his brother’s shoulder. “Get up.”</p><p>“Hrmm,” Eskel stirs, blinking away and shaking his head.</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>“Mmmyeah.”</p><p>“We’re getting White Honey. You can come with or go down to see how Vesemir wakes up Lambert.”</p><p>“I’ll take the latter,” Eskel says with a low chuckle, voice raspy. “I think it’ll really energize me.”</p><p>Geralt and Coen make it the rest of the way to his room and Geralt takes his bottle of White Honey from his pack, presenting it to Coen.</p><p>“Thanks,” he says gratefully, downing half of it and leaving the rest for Geralt. He glances around idly and wrinkles his nose. “The chamomile soap is a bit much, isn’t it?”</p><p>“S’not your soap,” Geralt replies, swallowing the potion. A sickeningly sweet warmth spreads immediately through his body, easing the ache in his head.</p><p>“I can still smell it.”</p><p>“Not my problem. Don’t you have some chores to see to, Coen?”</p><p>“Don’t you?” Coen replies with a smirk, but he claps Geralt on the shoulder and leaves just the same, and once more Geralt is alone in his room. He pulls Jaskier’s letters out of his pocket and places them carefully back on the desk before sinking into the chair with a sigh. Out the window he sees Ladybug hunting for mice on the ramparts, still patiently waiting to carry his reply. He takes a moment to write something brief.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Jaskier The Ever So Talented Bard,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Good luck with Agnes’s fiancée. If anything interesting happens, let me know.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Drank too much last night. Have to go take care of the horses; Roach is fine. Thinking about heading west in the spring. Maybe to Redania; will see.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Geralt</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--</em>
</p><p>The ball itself is grand—Annette’s family home is beautiful, made of old stone and lit with stunning scented candles that fill the ballroom with a subtle air of pine and cinnamon, crisp and warm and comforting. Jaskier, however, feels anything but comfort. He has a job to do, after all.</p><p>He’s watched Geralt meditate in silence countless times, watching the witcher’s body go still, energy settling, breath steady. He’s always wondered if the calming effect would help his creative process, but has never had the patience for sitting still for long. His mind is constantly wandering and whirring like a restless, wild thing. He wishes he’d learned the technique now, however, with his heart pounding fearfully in his chest. Jaskier has one chance to get this right, once chance to change Mikolaj’s decision, or else Agnes will tell their parents about his less-than-proper summertime activities and he will never see his friends again. Certainly will never see <em>Geralt </em>again.</p><p>Agnes introduces him to Annette first, greeting her friend sweetly. To anyone else Agnes would seem every inch a proper young lady destined for royal court. To Jaskier she is a conniving little snake, her blue eyes glinting at his when no one else is looking.</p><p>Their hostess is a lovely woman, short and fat, with beautiful red curls on her head and freckles all over her chubby face. She’s a beautiful lady, and on any other night Jaskier might find himself working his way into her affections, but instead he begins laying the groundwork for his plan. In truth, it’s a simple plan, perhaps one of the oldest in the books. Namely it involves a lot of alcohol, romantic music, and some carefully directed suggestions from a poet just to bring everything together neatly.</p><p>“Annie, darling, this is my brother, Julian. I’ve told you all about him, he brought his mandolin so he could play us some of his work!” Agnes tells her friend.</p><p>“It’s a lute,” Jaskier grumbles. Agnes smacks him on the shoulder without wavering in her expression. Jaskier resists the instinct to scowl at her as meanly as he can.</p><p>“How delightful! I would absolutely love to hear a few of your pieces, Julian. I’m certain they’ve been teaching you some lovely things up at Oxenfurt.”</p><p>“Milady, how kind of you,” Jaskier replies with his most charming grin. He bows low at the hip, taking her hand in his to kiss the back of it. She flushes and giggles, and he hears Agnes sigh with annoyance. “It would be my greatest pleasure to play you my songs. I will dedicate my performance entirely to you.”</p><p>Annette laughs again, a gentle laugh, pleasing, and Jaskier winks at her. If so much of his own fate weren’t on the line, he’d almost think it too easy to manipulate this little show of Agnes’s.</p><p>“Please save a dance for me, Julian,” Annette says boldly. “As a thanks, of course. For your performance.”</p><p>“Of course, darling.”</p><p>“Well, look at that,” Agnes interrupts, impatience obvious in the way she loops her arm through Jaskier’s and yanks him away from Annette. “I see my future husband over by the wine barrels. Do excuse us, Annie.”</p><p>“Ah, certainly, Agnes,” she says, a little baffled at the abrupt change in Agnes’s demeanor. “I will, uh, speak with you both later.”</p><p>Agnes pulls Jaskier away and as they march away from the slightly confused Annette, she glares up at her brother.</p><p>“You’re meant to get Mikolaj to marry her, not find your way into her smallclothes.”</p><p>“I don’t see why I couldn’t do both,” Jaskier replies cheekily.</p><p>“Pardon me, Annette is my <em>friend, </em>you absolute fiend. I’m not interested in her getting hurt. Quite the opposite. The poor girl is lonely, and Mikolaj is… he hovers, dotes even. They would be a good match.”</p><p>“Naturally. You’re a saint,” Jaskier rolls his eyes.</p><p>“You shut your fucking mouth,” Agnes says, “or I’ll be forced to open mine. I can tell father about the witcher at any time, you know.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Agnes schools her features into a more pleasant expression and calls out to a handsome young man with friendly amber eyes and dirty blonde hair. He smiles in a way that seems learned, and not really genuine, Jaskier notes.</p><p>“Mikolaj!” Agnes calls out as they approach, releasing Jaskier’s arm from her vice grip in favor of reaching out towards the young duke from Cidaris to whom she is unhappily engaged.</p><p>“Agnieszka,” he replies, taking her hands in his, which she allows. “My future wife. How lovely it is to see you here.”</p><p>“The pleasure is mine,” she answers with a forced smile. Then she reaches back and tugs on Jaskier’s arm and says, “Mikolaj, darling, this is Julian.” Mikolaj’s eyes turn to Jaskier and he brightens considerably.</p><p>“Pleasure to meet you,” he says. “I’ve heard quite a bit about the illusive Pankratz son. How does Oxenfurt treat you these past few years?”</p><p>“Quite well,” Jaskier says. “I’m sad to say that I’m on my final year; I’ll miss spending time with likeminded academics.”</p><p>“I had wanted to attend Oxenfurt as a boy, but my father insisted on private tutelage instead. I’m envious, Julian! Please regale us with some of your poetry,” he says earnestly. He glances at the lute case strapped to Jaskier’s back. “Oh, or will you be playing us some music this evening?”</p><p>“I had thought it would be nice,” Jaskier says. “The lovely Annette promised I could step in for a bit. I hope the minstrel troupe won’t mind.”</p><p>“I’m sure they would be happy for a break and a chance to eat,” Agnes says. “And oh, I think I see my sweet Greta just over there; why don’t you two chat, get to know each other? I think you’ll get along wonderfully. I will find you later, Mikolaj.” With that, Agnes slips easily into the dancing crowd and out of sight.</p><p>“Agnieszka is certainly… spirited,” Mikolaj says mildly. Jaskier detects a note of disinterest. <em>Perfect,</em> he thinks.</p><p>“Oh, she’s always been a handful,” he says. “She can be hard to live with, being so opinionated and surly.”</p><p>A flash of concern passes Mikolaj’s face but is immediately hidden into a veil of polite interest. “Is that so?”</p><p>“Ah, I’m so sorry,” Jaskier lies smoothly. “I don’t mean to disparage your future wife in front of you. Personally I find arranged marriages to be more trouble than they’re worth, but I’m sure yours will be different.”</p><p>Jaskier flags down a servant carrying alcohol and hors d’oeuvres and snags two glasses of strong elderberry vodka for the pair of them. He needs to get Mikolaj drunk, and he certainly doesn’t plan on doing this sober. Jaskier hands one glass to Mikolaj who seems to hesitate at the offering.</p><p>“Come on man, a toast! To your future marriage, and all the joys it will entail!” He raises his glass with a smile, and Mikolaj clinks their drinks together before taking a generous sip. Then the man wrinkles his nose and grimaces at the taste. Obviously he’s not a heavy drinker, which suits Jaskier’s purposes just fine.</p><p>He plies Mikolaj with alcohol, drink after drink, making easy conversation with him until the other man is well and truly besotted. It doesn’t take long, and before Jaskier knows it the man is spilling his words out like rain from a heavy cloud.</p><p>“Y’know,” Mikolaj says, words slurring together, “You… areee… not what I expected… Julian…”</p><p>“What ever did you expect?” he asks, sipping at a glass of wine he’s procured.</p><p>“Dunno… maybe… more like your father.”</p><p>“Melitele forbid,” Jaskier says with a shudder. “No, we don’t tend to see eye-to-eye on most things. For example, I don’t think many traditions suit me. I’ve no interest in a wife or a husband, nor children. Don’t get me wrong, I love my niece and nephews plenty, but after a time it’s nice to pass them back to their parents and get on with my day. And I certainly don’t want to spend the rest of my days in Lettenhove going over trade reports and infrastructure failings. Certainly you must want more for yourself, Miko?”</p><p>“Huh…” Mikolaj looks as though perhaps he’s never let himself think of it before. “Wellllll…. Can you keep a secret, Julian?”</p><p>“Of course, my friend!”</p><p>“Well… don’t take this the wroooong way but… I don’t parti… par… particu… don’t really want to marry Agnieszka. Don’t be… ah, angry, she’s a lovely lady but…”</p><p>“But your heart is somewhere else,” Jaskier supplies.</p><p>“Yes,” Mikolaj says, cheeks flushed from the drink, hair disheveled. “You understand.”</p><p>“I do. And where, just between the pair of us, does your heart lie?”</p><p>“I shouldn’t…”</p><p>“I insist. I swear, my good man, I shall take your secret to my grave.”</p><p>“There’s… Annette. We’ve been good friends since we were children and… I just… she is so beautiful…” he says mournfully. “And she’s sweet, kind, welcoming… tells good jokes… she’s clever too… oh no…”</p><p>“You’re not a fan of Agnes’s jokes?” Jaskier asks, feigning confusion.</p><p>Mikolaj looks alarmed. “Nooo, no, of course I am. And she’s quite, umm, clever herself. I just don’t… I don’t think she wants to marry me. And I…”</p><p>“You want to marry Annette.”</p><p>“I don’t know if I… if I’d say I want to <em>marry</em> her, but… I’d like to court her, at least… see if we would be a good match…”</p><p>Jaskier nods. “Admirable. You should talk to her, darling! I’m sure she’d be open to it.”</p><p>“Can’t! Can’t… my father… he expects…”</p><p>“Well, you know, my father expects me to take over his job, settle down, have a family, and live a terribly boring life for the rest of my days here in Kerack, and I don’t plan to do any of that,” Jaskier says encouragingly. “Our fathers are both respectable men, but we don’t have to be them. Times are changing. Talk to Annette. Talk to any person you fancy, have a good time, that’s what I say.”</p><p>“Ohh… is that what you do? Julian?” Mikolaj’s unfocused amber eyes turn sluggishly back to Jaskier. He’s swaying on his feet a little, and Jaskier makes a note not to let Mikolaj drink any more, or else he’s bound to go from uninhibited to asleep in minutes.</p><p>“It certainly is,” Jaskier boasts. “I’ve courted ladies, gentlemen, both, and otherwise at Oxenfurt. I don’t plan on marrying any of them. It’s all just a bit of fun. You deserve to have some fun, Miko!”</p><p>“I don’t know how…” he says sadly. Jaskier almost feels bad for the fellow.</p><p>“Let me help you,” Jaskier replies. “It’s the least I can do.”</p><p>Mikolaj seems to look Jaskier up and down, eyes beginning to cloud with interest. And not unlike with Annette, on any other night, Jaskier might be flirting for an entirely different reason. Mikolaj is handsome, and has an air of innocence that Jaskier thinks would be fun to ruin. But there’s more important things going on tonight than his own pleasure, so he quashes that instinct.</p><p>“Please wait here. And, ah, don’t drink anything else.”</p><p>“All right…” Mikolaj sounds uncertain but seems willing, which is exactly how Jaskier needs him. He crosses the room over to where Annette is chatting with a few other young ladies, and he puts on his most charming smile.</p><p>“Excuse me, ladies!” he says with a deep bow that makes all of them giggle. “I came to pay respects again to our lovely hostess. Annette, thank you ever so much for throwing this ball for the season. The decorations are impeccable and the music is a delight.”</p><p>The women all giggle and titter at him. Annette’s fingers are clasped together in front of her and she curtsies. “Thank you for saying so,” she replies. “I’m quite looking forward to hearing you play. I spoke to the troupe leader; they’re ready to take their break whenever you like, Julian.”</p><p>He doesn’t flinch at the name, just as he hasn’t flinched at it all night. This too is practiced; he has rehearsed his smiles and his reactions, his flirtations and his performances in front of a mirror and in front of Shani many times in their sophomore year. A good bard must be able to put on a mask of confidence, ease, and romance at all times. A bard’s behavior must be both over the top and completely genuine for the sake of drawing in audiences and leaving them convinced of every emotion that is sung to them. There are very few people remaining who can see through Jaskier’s rehearsed smiles and affectations, and none of them are here tonight.</p><p>“Please, let me fulfill my promise to you, dear heart,” Jaskier says amiably. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?” He extends a hand to her with feigned eagerness. Her friends begin to smile as they look at each other and at her with excitement. Annette’s pretty face goes a brighter red but she takes his offered hand and he leads her away from the group and to the dance floor where many couples are dancing well-practiced moves to a merry jig that the minstrel troupe is performing. The music isn’t anything special, in Jaskier’s snobbish opinion. But this is part of his plan too.</p><p>He spins Annette, dips her, makes her laugh as her dress fans out around her. They twirl around the room, and Jaskier edges them closer and closer to Mikolaj, as quickly as he can without raising Annette’s suspicions.</p><p>“You are a delightful dancer, darling,” he tells her. “How can it be that this is your first dance of the night?”</p><p>“Oh, well,” she replies bashfully. “In truth, since you offered when Agnes introduced you, I thought to… save my first dance, I suppose? Please don’t think me too forward. I have been drinking, I admit.</p><p>“I see, I see. As honored as I am, I feel a bit bad for making you wait!”</p><p>“Not at all, I’ve been busy! Hosting events is a great joy but also a real pain,” Annette says with a mild grimace. He’s pleased to see her proper demeanor slip; it’s far more difficult to matchmake when people are pretending to be what they aren’t.</p><p>“Oh? You can tell me all about it if you like,” he answers. “I promise I won’t tell anyone you were any less than perfect.”</p><p>She giggles at that, and at being dipped low in the course of the dance. “Well, it’s tiresome, you know? I spent so much time coordinating everything, the decorations, the food, the drink, the music… and then of course I had to send out invitations to people I like but also to people it would be improper to ignore, and naturally everyone has to come greet me so I spend most of the night talking and drinking. I do love to dance though.”</p><p>“I’m of the opinion that people should dance often and with everyone they care to,” Jaskier says. “You’ve worked hard, you should enjoy the fruits of your labor.”</p><p>Annette begins to nod in agreement; Jaskier will forever be grateful to the strong, foreign alcohol being served around the room, his only accomplice in this endeavor. With the influence of many glasses of wine, she seems to find wisdom in his words.</p><p>“In fact, I insist that you dance with everyone that pleases you. It would be my honor to assist.”</p><p>“I’m not sure…”</p><p>“Annie, please, I know you’ve got someone in mind.”</p><p>“Aside from you? I truly can’t think of anyone.”</p><p>Jaskier smiles. “I happen to know someone who would <em>very much </em>like to dance with you. Someone enamored of you quite entirely.”</p><p>“What?” Her eyes go wide as saucers. “I… I had no idea there was anyone who felt like that for me.”</p><p>“Well, there is someone. Can you keep a secret? He mustn’t know that I told someone, least of all the objects of his affections.”</p><p>Annete’s face grows serious and she nods. “I promise. I won’t tell a soul it was you.”</p><p>“Well… it’s Mikolaj of Cidaris.”</p><p>Jaskier twirls Annette around when he says it, and she looks almost dizzy as her jaw drops.</p><p>“What…? Could that… really be true? But… but he is promised to your own sister! Betrothed!”</p><p>“That’s true,” Jaskier says. “And you must know I would never do anything to harm my beloved younger sister. But I’ve been drinking with Mikolaj all night, and he admitted to me that despite his impending marriage to Agnieszka, his heart belongs to you.”</p><p>“Oh my… did you know, Miko and I, our fathers go hunting together often, and we played together all the time as children. He’s a good man, but I must confess I’ve never really thought of him that way. How strange… If I may be so bold, I had hoped <em>you</em> might—“</p><p>Jaskier interrupts before she can finish the thought.  “I don’t see why you shouldn’t at least dance with him, think about it, you know?”</p><p>“Ah, it would be so uncouth, improper. His father would be so angry at him.”</p><p>Jaskier draws on all his training and practice not to roll his eyes. The personal affairs of nobility are dull and petty, and they all waste their time with propriety and worrying about others’ feelings. He likes a good party as much as anyone, of course, and he’s good at keeping track of gossip if only to use it to his advantage. He’s also got a mind for political intrigue, finds it fascinating. But this? The arranged, forced relationships, the rules, the unnecessary restrictions? Pointless. He grew up watching his parents ignore each other, utterly lacking in love or any semblance of happiness together. The rest of the world and its problems are far more interesting, and significantly better to sing about.</p><p>“Trust me,” Jaskier says with an insincere smile. “Annette, dancing with you has been the highlight of my entire season.”</p><p>“Julian…”</p><p>“But as Mikolaj’s friend, I must ask, wouldn’t you consider just one dance? I’ll even provide the music.”</p><p>“I… I suppose. I’m simply in shock. I had no idea he felt such a way for me. It’s flattering… I know he would be a fine husband, and he would be respectful of me, and he <em>is </em>very handsome, don’t you think?”</p><p>Jaskier <em>does </em>think Mikolaj is very handsome, and he says so. “To be honest, if it weren’t for my sister, I’d consider courting the man myself. But as much as I’d like to get to know him that way, or you for that matter” —Annette gasps at this easy admission—“I really do believe that the pair of you would be lovely together.”</p><p>“And… and what about Agnes?”</p><p>“In truth? She doesn’t want to marry Mikolaj,” Jaskier says lightly. “I think she wouldn’t mind at all, and that she wants you, her dear friend, to find happiness.”</p><p>Then the song ends and he turns Annette gently around, finally ending up right where Mikolaj is standing. “Mikolaj, Annette here would just love to dance with you.” Mikolaj’s face lights up, the first sign of genuine happiness the man has shown all night. Annette looks uncertain, but open and pleased by the idea. It’s all stupid, Jaskier believes. But it’s also his ticket back to freedom. He just has to get back to Oxenfurt and finish his last semester. Then Agnes can tell their family anything she wants; he’ll be long gone.</p><p>Mikolaj bows respectfully to Annette, and she returns the gesture, and they both smile at him with warmth and gratitude before they pick up the dance. Then, Jaskier enacts the final step of his plan. He quickly makes his way to the minstrel troupe and leans in to whisper to the lute player. The group is happy to step back and allow him to perform, and he has the perfect song chosen already. It’s one he envisioned as a duet to sing with Priscilla, but desperate times call for desperate measures.</p><p>When the troupe stops playing, many of the ball’s attendees look towards the stage with confusion. Jaskier pulls his ornate, lovely lute around to the front, checking the pegs one final time before strumming a chord.</p><p>“Ladies and gentlemen,” he calls out merrily, as charming as he can muster. “I very much hope you are having as splendid an evening as I am. Please enjoy this song I’ve written as a thank you for such a lovely Yuletide celebration.”</p><p>Many people among the crowd begin to murmur to each other but he makes eye contact with Annette and Mikolaj and winks at them before beginning to play. This is a song he'd written at the beginning of autumn, thinking about a future of growing old, of staying with Geralt forever. A dangerous road, fraught with imperfections and arguments and hardship, but also laughter and gentle hope. It’s an impossible dream, surely, but a good one. The music is sanguine, warm, a little sad, and he can see the earnest romance of the piece stirring the hearts of the people in the room.</p><p>Jaskier sings, “Your eyes aren’t rivers there to weep, but a place for crows to rest their feet…”</p><p>He watches as Annette and Mikolaj turn slowly together, talking quietly under their breath, eyes shining and wanting and pleased. The song is meant to evoke a long relationship, a lasting one, one that stretches into old age with everything that entails.</p><p>“The minute I met you,” he sings, “the colors of my life began to pour.”</p><p><em>Don’t think about Geralt, </em>he reprimands himself as he sings. Because that line is his truth, the sound fact that Geralt brought contrast and inspiration and meaning into his life. Jaskier has always known he’s meant to be a bard. He hadn’t known what he was going to sing about until the day Geralt came to Oxenfurt. And once he had, unbidden, the world had filled with the vibrancy and verve that he had been lacking. Jaskier’s life was full of meaningful friendships and good fucks and some degree of direction, but Geralt was much more than that.</p><p>As the song draws to a close, there is nary a dry eye in the audience, and the entire room bursts into applause. He even catches Agnes’s eye, and she looks almost like he remembers her, young and hanging on his every note. She appears impressed, satisfied even, and she gives him a small smile. She’s still an untrustworthy little shite. But she’s also still his sister, and he’s glad for that, despite himself.</p><p>Jaskier bows low to the floor, sweeping one arm dramatically up, holding his precious lute in place, and once the clapping dies down he puts it back in its case and snaps it shut. All that’s left to do is make sure Mikolaj and Annette spend the rest of the night together, and to drink to his own success.</p><p>“What a beautiful song,” Annette says when he approaches the pair of them. Mikolaj has one hand around Annette's waist and a wine glass in the other, but at this point Jaskier has no need for Mikolaj to be alert, so he lets it be. “Julian, you should be playing in royal courts when you’ve finished your training! You’re so incredibly talented…”</p><p>“I fully agree,” Mikolaj says, eyes burning with interest and gratitude. “When I… when I go back to court… once you’re graduated… you should… you should come join us.”</p><p>“<em>Us</em>, is it?” Jaskier asks with a smirk. Mikolaj and Annette flush in alarm but then calm and smile at each other gently.</p><p>“W-well, we haven’t decided anything just yet,” Annete says. “However, I think… well, I’d like to see where this goes.”</p><p>“I feel the same way. I’m… going… going to break off my engagement to Agnieszka tomorrow,” Mikolaj says. “I have to… follow my heart. As you said. You’re a remarkable performer, Julian.”</p><p>“And truly a master of poetry,” Annette adds, flirting obviously. “Won’t you drink with us, please?”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t see why not,” Jaskier says with a shrug. “What’s that thing they say in Skellige? Skol!”</p><p>Annette gestures for a nearby servant to bring over more wine, vodka, and ale for the three of them, and they get drunker and drunker as the night carries on. They drink, and dance, and chatter, and Jaskier finds Mikolaj’s amber eyes to be quite beautiful and Annette’s chubby waist to be enticing and the more they drink, the less coherent Jaskier’s thoughts become. The attendees begin to trickle out of the ballroom, climbing into carriages that are waiting to steer them all back to their homes.</p><p>The night breaks down into little moments, sensations, feelings. Hands on his back and arms. Annette’s lips against his, Mikolaj’s hand palming his ass, the feel of the ribbon keeping Annette’s bodice together as he tugs it from the grommets. They stagger down the halls of Annette’s home to her quarters, all three unable to stop touching, groping, licking at each other.</p><p>The humor of the situation is not lost on Jaskier; perhaps, he thinks as Annette enthusiastically strips him of his smallclothes and begins to suck on the head of his cock while Mikolaj hikes up her skirts in his eagerness to reach between her legs, forgoing removing the many layers of her outfit in favor of getting his tongue up against her wet pussy. Is this what he had in mind when the evening started? Certainly not, but Mikolaj is breaking off his betrothal and also turns out to be eager for Jaskier’s slick fingers in his ass, and Jaskier has never been one to look one gift horse in the mouth, let alone two of them. And even if Annette and Mikolaj don’t end up married, at least he had the opportunity to stroke himself off while Mikolaj fucked eagerly into Annette’s warm entrance, a lovely show that Jaskier not only gets to watch, but also encourage, whispering poetry into Annette’s ear as he pinches her nipples and Mikolaj eats her out a second time that evening. They go well on into the night, the three of them trying a number of positions before finally falling asleep tangled in each other.</p><p>Jaskier wakes several hours later feeling deliciously sore. His head is pillowed on Annette’s belly, and Mikolaj is spooning him. One of Mikolaj’s arms is draped over both Jaskier and Annette. He raises his head carefully to survey the room. Their clothing is scattered throughout the large bedroom, and on the nightstand there’s a phial of lavender oil that’s been tipped over, spilling the scented oil over the wooden tabletop. His lute case is propped up on a small chair in front of Annette’s vanity mirror. The smell in the room is sweat and perfume and sex, and it’s a mixture that Jaskier is very familiar with.</p><p>He feels light and relieved and satisfied, having successfully pulled off the plan; he can’t wait to write back to Geralt about his triumph.</p><p>Behind him, Mikolaj stirs, grimacing through what is surely the mother of all hangovers. Annette sleeps on soundly, and Jaskier feels inclined to let her keep sleeping.</p><p>“Good morning,” Mikolaj whispers, face pale and drawn.</p><p>“Good morning indeed,” Jaskier whispers back. “Though you don’t look so good yourself, darling.”</p><p>“My head… is killing me,” he answers. “Melitele preserve me. But it was a good night. And I owe you a great deal of thanks.”</p><p>“Oh,” Jaskier says with a grin, “think nothing of it. I’d say the pair of you<em> thanked </em>me quite thoroughly last night!”</p><p>Mikolaj blushes and his eyes widen as he looks away. “I, erm. Yes. I had a good time.”</p><p>“I should hope so. I’m an expert at what I do, in all things,” Jaskier teases. “Mm. I think I’ll be feeling your <em>gratitude</em> for another day or two, Miko.”</p><p>Mikolaj chuckles lowly and presses a kiss to the back of Jaskier’s neck before leaning over carefully to brush some of Annette’s beautiful red hair out of her face.</p><p>“I can’t say for sure if I’m truly in love,” Mikolaj admits. “But I think we might be quite good together.”</p><p>“I think you will be as well,” Jaskier says, and he’s sincere in this. Despite the manipulation that may have gotten them together, they do seem like a good match, and if they’re going to be breaking with tradition so thoroughly, Jaskier believes they may as well do it as a pair.</p><p>“You meant it when you said Agnieszka wouldn’t be angry, didn’t you?” Mikolaj asks.</p><p>“I meant it. She will not mind at all. In fact, I have a hunch she will insist.”</p><p>Jaskier rolls his shoulders and carefully makes to sit up, trying not to jostle Annette but failing as he crawls out of the embrace. Annette’s eyes flutter open and she glances over at Mikolaj first. He smiles at her so fondly that Jaskier finds he has to look away; it’s an intensely loving gaze that makes him almost jealous. But he swallows that feeling and begins to look for his clothing instead, ignoring as Mikolaj and Annette lean in close together to murmur softly between them.</p><p>“Julian,” Mikolaj finally says as he pulls his trousers on. “We would love for you to come to court with us, you know. I could get you a position as a court troubadour.”</p><p>“I know I’d love to have you there,” Annette adds sweetly.</p><p>Jaskier smirks at the idea. He can see himself taking up a court position for maybe some short months, or for a season, or on special holidays and festivals, but not permanently. The monotony would get dull, and wanderlust would inevitably find him again. “I’ll, uh. I’ll think about it. I’m not sure it’s for me, but I appreciate the thought.”</p><p>The three of them eat breakfast together and chat until Jaskier is able to borrow a horse from Annette’s mother’s stable to ride home, promising to send it back with a servant as soon as possible. The horse is a lovely dappled grey mare, expertly trained and incredibly responsive to commands. She’s absolutely nothing like spending time around Roach, who is a witcher’s steed through and through, showing a streak of independence and intelligence that have been thoroughly bred out of this borrowed horse. It’s nice to sit in the saddle rather than walk, though, and he appreciates how much faster he can travel like this.</p><p>The ride home isn’t too long, and the roads are cleared of ice; the sun is even out for the first time in days. The fields are still blanketed by snow, waiting for spring to thaw them, but the sunshine is warm on Jaskier’s face and he’s eager for the rest of the winter to pass quickly, eager to return to his friends and to his education. And, hopefully, Geralt will visit in the spring, and he can get back to the important work of convincing the witcher to take him along when the semester ends.</p><p>When he arrives home he hands the reins of the horse off to a stablehand and quickly makes his way to his quarters. Agnes is inside, sitting at his desk and reading over Geralt’s letters, and Jaskier is irritated, but too tired and pleased to care much.</p><p>“You know,” she says slowly, “when I asked you to break off my marriage, I didn’t anticipate you <em>seducing</em> my husband-to-be and the friend I wanted to foist him off onto. But… Father received a message from Mikolaj’s father breaking off the engagement earlier this morning.”</p><p>“Well, surely you didn’t expect me to get nothing out of an evening,” he says casually, walking up to the desk and snatching one of the letters out of her hand.</p><p>“What do you—<em>nothing? </em>You would have gotten your pass to venture the world freely, and mine as well. The fuck d’you mean, get nothing. You’re such a prick, Julian!” She breaks the façade of highborn lady and jumps to her feet, glaring with all the petulance a seventeen-year-old can possess, fists balled at her sides like a threat.</p><p>“You <em>blackmailed me!” </em>Jaskier exclaims.<em> “</em>I already <em>had</em> a pass! All you did was hold it hostage!”</p><p>“Well I wouldn’t have been able to blackmail you if you weren’t so fucking careless about everything!”</p><p>“Oh, so it’s <em>my </em>fault that <em>you </em>decided to blackmail me!?”</p><p>“It’s your fault that you’re a horse’s ass!”</p><p>“Fuck off, Agnes! Gods, Mikolaj is so fucking lucky he doesn’t have to put up with you anymore!”</p><p>“Yes, well, I hope you and your witcher are very happy together annoying each other to death in a stinking swamp forever!”</p><p>“Good! Well <em>I </em>hope that <em>you </em>and your vintner drown in rotten grape juice!”</p><p>“Fine!”</p><p>“<em>Fine!”</em></p><p>Agnes slams her shoulder into his as hard as she can as she marches past him to the door, hard enough to hurt, and it takes everything in him not to wince. Before she opens the door, however, she hesitates and glances back at him. Her voice softens, all the fight gone out of it.</p><p>“I do hope that you’ll be happy. You know that, right?”</p><p>“Yes, I know, Agnes.”</p><p>“And I’m—I’m not sorry!”</p><p>Jaskier laughs. “Believe me, I know that too.”</p><p>“But, well… I know you’re never coming back to Lettenhove after this.”</p><p>“That’s the plan.”</p><p>“I… I thought your music was really beautiful last night. You’re doing exactly what you’re meant to do in this life. I hope that witcher appreciates it, Julian. Umm. Jaskier, I mean.”</p><p>Jaskier doesn’t know what to say to that, so he nods mutely. She flashes him an almost-smile and leaves, pulling the door shut gently behind her.</p><p>Across the room, Ladybug is napping on top of an armoire. Jaskier wastes no time in penning another letter.</p><p>
  <em>My Sweet Lovely Darling Witcher Geralt of Rivia,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I will start with the fact that I, too, drank far too much last night. And it was very interesting indeed! It turned out that the fiancée was quite enamored of the friend, and it took only some subtle encouragement and plying of drink and courage on my part to get them talking, and after playing them one of my new romantic pieces, they danced the night away.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Of course, I drank and danced with them, and let’s just say ended up having quite a fantastic night with the pair of them. They even invited me to go to court with them when I finish my degree; can you imagine? The drama of it all. Me at royal court with two partners to share a bed. Agnes is happy enough with the result and my head doesn’t feel too terrible so all’s well that ends well, I suppose.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please give Roach my best. And I should very much like to see you for Belletyn. I promise not to send you on a wild goat chase.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours, ever so fondly,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jaskier</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--</em>
</p><p>The letter makes Geralt feel like a fool. He allowed his brothers to convince him of Jaskier’s apparently obvious affections, but it was a foolish mistake. He has always known that Jaskier is a creature of impulse, following his flights of fancy as well as his cock wherever he sees fit in an instant.</p><p>He can easily imagine Jaskier posted at a royal court, charming all the nobles and royals with his sweet songs and his cheery smile. Of course Jaskier would jump at that chance alone, not even to mention having a pair of lovers to play with—</p><p>Geralt knows he’s being terribly unfair even as he thinks about it. Jaskier can go wherever he likes, sleep with whoever he wants to, and spend his days as he desires. Geralt has made no claim to him, has never let his own selfish desires be known to the bard, and he never gave Jaskier consent to travel alongside him on the Path again anyway.</p><p>It’s that ugly, jealous, twisted thing that snarls and snaps beneath Geralt’s ribs, the desirous creature that he’s always kept under lock and key, that unwanted animal that the witcher truly is at his core. It hungers for something, and it always has, and only on two occasions has it ever slipped from the cage in Geralt’s chest.</p><p>Geralt lets out a snarl and slams his hand down on the desk, startling Ladybug who flaps her wings and squawks indignantly, fixing the witcher with a stern glare. He looks back at the raven and frowns. If only Yennefer hadn’t given this stupid bird to Jaskier in the first place.</p><p>“Go back to your master,” Geralt growls. “I have nothing for you to bring him.”</p><p>Ladybug stares at him for a moment and then begins preening under a wing, clearly choosing to ignore his bad mood. She’s not so different from Yennefer or Jaskier in this way.</p><p>For days, Ladybug hangs around Kaer Morhen. At night she usually finds her way into Geralt’s room. (Even when he latches the window, somehow she ends up inside.) Other times he spots her on the ramparts of the keep, perched on towers, or in the courtyard hunting for mice and other little animals trying to stay warm and fed in the winter. She does not leave no matter how long he ignores her.</p><p>The other witchers notice, of course, but Geralt waves them all off. After two solid weeks, he wakes one morning to see the raven staring at him from the foot of his bed. He groans, closes his eyes tightly, hoping that she’ll go away, but by now he’s certain that the only way to get rid of this bird is to give her something to carry.</p><p>She caws loudly and repeatedly. He ignores her until he can’t anymore and pulls on a pair of boots and a cloak. If the bird insists on waking him so early, he may as well tend to the horses.</p><p>When he stalks down the stairs and through the hall, it’s empty. There are a few dirty dishes left on one of the long tables, so Geralt assumes at least a few witchers are awake and doing chores or work around the keep. He opens the main door to the courtyard and the cold wind blows through. Geralt suppresses a shiver and walks through the snow to the stable.</p><p>Roach and Scorpion, Eskel’s horse, are already sharing a bale of hay together. The other horses are eating as well, and raise their heads and flick their ears in his direction when he enters the warm barn. Geralt sighs and begins the task of mucking out the stalls with a pitchfork, dragging an empty wheelbarrow over for the task. Eventually this will be turned into fertilizer for the small herb garden Vesemir keeps in the springtime. There are no longer any witcher trainees learning minor alchemy, but still the old master insists on growing the plants and tending the garden year after year.</p><p>After a few minutes Vesemir enters the stable. Geralt turns to nod at him but sees that Ladybug has flown down from his room and is perched on the older witcher’s shoulder, and ends up scowling instead.</p><p>“Geralt, there you are,” Vesemir says without pretense. “Yennefer’s bird is still here and growing more insistent by the hour.”</p><p>“She’s—it’s just going to have to insist,” Geralt growls, turning back to his work.</p><p>“This is ridiculous.”</p><p>“I agree.”</p><p>“Just write another damned letter,” Vesemir says. “I don’t think it’s going to leave until you do.”</p><p>“Of course it won’t,” Geralt says. “Yennefer enchanted the most annoying thing she could possibly think of and gave it to the most annoying human I’ve ever met.”</p><p>Vesemir chuckles. “The <em>most </em>annoying? You’ve met not a few humans. That’s quite a claim.”</p><p>“He’s—irritating, persistent, noisy, <em>nosy, </em>and—“</p><p>“You care about him,” Vesemir says almost kindly. But Geralt knows the thread of warning in his voice quite well.</p><p>When Geralt was a boy, he dreamed of a great many things. He dreamed of being gallant, of being brave, of saving humans from monsters. The Trials were designed to beat that out of those boys fortunate enough to survive them, and for the most part they did. What was left, Vesemir and the other trainers took care of themselves. Geralt hears Vesemir’s voice from long ago in his mind when he performs many tasks—brewing potions, making campfires in the rain, meditating while poisoned by certain venoms—but most often when he interacts with humans.</p><p>Humans, Vesemir always taught, are flighty, unpredictable, cruel, and untrustworthy. They will ask for witchers to do all manner of things they’re incapable of doing themselves, and they will rarely be grateful. They will spit, they will insult, they will threaten, they will fear, they will scream, they will run. They will cross the road to be further away, they will bar their doors and run witchers out of town. Some might get closer out of curiosity or thrill-seeking but those can be trusted no more than the others. And during the many years Geralt has walked the Path, Vesemir has been right about humans more often than not.</p><p>“I tried not to,” Geralt says, because there’s simply no point in telling Vesemir anything but the truth. “I didn’t want to.”</p><p>“Emotions are tricky things,” Vesemir says. He wrinkles his nose. “Hmm. If you’ve finished with the horses, perhaps we can talk somewhere else.”</p><p>Geralt sighs. “Fine.”</p><p>He finishes the chore and drags the wheelbarrow to the fertilizer pile in the storehouse before following Vesemir. Instead of going back inside the keep, Vesemir begins to climb the stairs to the outer walls, and Geralt follows him.</p><p>“This human of yours—“</p><p>“He’s not <em>mine</em>,” Geralt protests. He wishes everyone would stop calling Jaskier such when the man has promised himself to no one and to anyone. Another unwarranted, unfair thought. Jaskier doesn’t have to promise anything.</p><p>Vesemir sighs. “This human. He runs towards danger and not away from it.”</p><p>Geralt thinks of Jaskier jumping to help a witcher without question, waiting in the path of the vampire, tagging along for a perilous season and asking for more. “He does.”</p><p>“He likes you,” he adds.</p><p>“I suppose so.”</p><p>“Well, he must. To write to you so often. And you must care about him if you’ve written back as often as you have. Don’t think I don’t know how much parchment you’ve gone through,” Vesemir says with a glint in his eye. He pauses by a place on the wall with a large crack running through the stones, touches the ruined area with a bare hand and frowns as he checks the damage.</p><p>“It was a mistake,” Geralt growls. “Despite your efforts, I make them sometimes.”</p><p>Vesemir smirks and straightens up. He reaches to absently scratch Ladybug gently on the head, and she closes her eyes and leans into it happily.</p><p>“Yes, we all remember what happened with Yennefer.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“You know, Geralt, I’ve made mistakes too. I’ve been wrong. There’s no shame in this. So long as it teaches you something.”</p><p>“Fuck off. I’m not your student anymore, Vesemir.”</p><p>“No, you aren’t. You’re a witcher of the Path. But you must forgive me, Geralt, because I spent such a long time teaching children how to be hunters and warriors that it still comes naturally to me now. Clearly this human has said something that upset you. What was it?”</p><p>“Something that finally knocked some sense into me,” Geralt says. “I had this… stupid, ridiculous idea that… that just because he traveled with me for a season, that he would ask to come with me again, and that I would say yes. That he was different, not following along because of curiosity or for the excitement, but because… He wants me to visit him in Oxenfurt, but he’s been offered a position at court in Cidaris now, by a pair of lovers he bedded.”</p><p>“No matter how many fissures that I patch up here, there’s always more,” Vesemir says of the broken stone wall, as though he isn’t paying attention. Geralt knows better, knows that Vesemir is always listening, always ready. Vesemir pulls a large chunk of rock from where it’s come loose and places it on top of the wall. “Humans aren’t like us, Geralt, you know that. They’re fickle, they change, and eventually they leave.”</p><p>“He said he wanted to stay,” Geralt sighs. “I thought…”</p><p>Vesemir smiles, but it’s sad. “I’ve taught you many things I hoped weren’t true, Geralt. In a better world nothing I ever taught you, nothing we ever made of you, would have been necessary. And maybe in that world you and your bard could travel the Continent together.”</p><p>“I had this foolish idea that he would come with me. And that some winter or another I could bring him here.”</p><p>“A bard in Kaer Morhen? Now that would be interesting.”</p><p>“I thought you’d be angry.”</p><p>“I’m too old to be angry much anymore,” Vesemir says. “These days I’m just tired. And a bit sorry, from time to time. You wanted him to pick you.”</p><p>“I almost thought he did,” Geralt admits. “I’m foolish like that.”</p><p>“Having hope isn’t foolish,” Vesemir says. “I used to train witchers here, year after year after year. I had to hope enough of them would survive the Trials. And now there are no more new witchers. So all I have left to worry about are these crumbling walls, and the wolves that are left.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental in your old age, Vesemir.”</p><p> “You should be so lucky!” Vesemir laughs. “My point is that you care about the human, your bard.”</p><p>“He <em>isn’t my—“</em></p><p>“So you say. But I think you know better. Your instincts have always been good, Geralt. The best, even. You’ve survived things other witchers wouldn’t, haven’t. What is your instinct telling you now?”</p><p>“That… that I care for Jaskier,” Geralt admits. “More than is wise for a witcher to care about anyone. And even if he stayed because he wanted to be with me, even if he felt the same… If other humans knew, he’d be cast out, maybe killed by them. That’s a bigger threat than any monster. And that’s why I couldn’t, cannot, take him with me.”</p><p>“All right then,” Vesemir says. Ladybug flies up and then lands again on Geralt’s shoulder and squawks. “You should tell him the truth. Get this damned bird to leave everyone alone.”</p><p>Geralt follows Vesemir’s advice and returns to his room, picking up his quill to pen one last letter. The winter is coming to an end, and soon he and his fellow witchers will return to the Path. They will go their separate ways. And Geralt, as always, as ever, will go alone.</p><p>
  <em>Jaskier,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My brothers and I will be back on our ways as soon as the roads thaw. I think that a position at court in Cidaris would be a perfect fit for you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I do not think it’s a good idea for me to come back to Oxenfurt. The fact is that I cannot bring you with me on the Path again. It is too unsafe for humans, and if you became too heavily associated with me while you remain in court, it would endanger you as surely as staying with me would. It would also be best for you to keep your association with Yennefer to a minimum as well, in my opinion, thought I know you won’t listen.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Humans are not kind to witchers. They fear us. I will not let that fear be turned back to you, and so I will stay away. I wish you luck finishing your education and later in Cidaris.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Geralt</em>
</p><p>
  <em>--</em>
</p><p>Jaskier tries not to think about the letter, about what it means. Of course he should have known better than to think Geralt might actually let him come along. But Jaskier is not stupid. He knows that Geralt is afraid. Afraid that the world will be too unkind if they learn that Jaskier is pathetically besotted with a witcher. This is a rejection of Jaskier’s affections, he knows, but also an attempt to keep him safe regardless. Noble.</p><p>He doesn’t write back to Geralt; there’s nothing to say. He wants Jaskier to leave him and Yennefer alone. He’s chosen her over him. Jaskier always knew that Geralt would; he had just hoped that it wouldn’t matter, and Geralt might let him come along anyway.</p><p>It hurts to think about, and even when Geralt only gives him pain, it inspires him to write. He sends drafts back and forth with Priscilla for the rest of the winter, fine-tuning the lyrics and the notes until his most desperate wishes are laid bare in the form of song.</p><p>Finally, the snow begins to melt, and the time come for Jaskier to gather his belongings and make his way back to Oxenfurt for his final semester. This time, however, unbeknownst to most of the household, Jaskier has no intention of ever coming back to the estate. He combs through all the things deciding what he can leave behind, what he has to bring, and saying goodbye to the belongings he won’t see again.</p><p>The morning of his departure, there’s a gentle knock at his door.</p><p>“Come in,” he shouts over his shoulder as he folds clothing and places it into his trunk. The door creaks open and to Jaskier’s surprise, Marcelina enters the room.</p><p>Marcelina is a stern woman with brown eyes like their mother and brown hair like her siblings. Despite being only two years older than Jaskier she has deep frown lines around her mouth, and she spends so much time with the viscount that she often gives off the same cold air as he does.</p><p>“Julian,” she says with a gentle expression on her face. “I’m glad I was able to catch you before you left.”</p><p>“Did you need something from me, Marcy?” he asks. He’s never sure how to speak to Marcelina; with Agnes it’s easier, because they’re so very alike. Marcelina is so different from Jaskier in so many ways. She was always too busy to listen to his songs, and showed minimal interest in him when they were children because she was always so much more interested in emulating their father.</p><p>“I wanted to say goodbye,” she says.</p><p>“Oh. Well, erm, goodbye?”</p><p>“Julian.”</p><p>“Marcelina.”</p><p>“You must believe I’m stupid,” she scolds him, “if you truly think I don’t know what you’re planning.”</p><p>“I, ah, I don’t know what you could possibly mean.”</p><p>She stares at him for a moment, and then sighs. Her shoulders relax, and she smiles at him, a real smile. “I remember when you and Agnes used to sneak pastries from the kitchen. And you’d get away with it by blaming each other so persistently that no one could tell which of you was guilty and eventually they’d give up. But I knew. And I know now. Father thinks you’re coming back here at the end of your final semester, to study statecraft under his tutelage. You aren’t going to do that. The day your get your degree from the university you’re going to gather whatever you can carry and you’re going to run. And when you do, you won’t be Julian Alfred Pankratz in any real capacity again.”</p><p>Jaskier looks at her with wide, terrified eyes. His heart is dropping just as rapidly as the day Agnes blackmailed him. His sisters are so much more dangerous than he gave them credit for. But Marcelina’s expression doesn’t shift. Her eyes are soft and kind, and she doesn’t look angry at all.</p><p>“I always felt like I had been born to be a viscountess, you know. Father would let me sit at the side of his desk to observe when I was small, and I would watch him negotiate trade deals and work to improve the lives of the local citizens and handle finances and noble families and I was fascinated by the work. I know you don’t understand that. And it would break my heart to see him, every time, since you were old enough to understand, ask<em> you</em> for the answer to the questions I knew by heart.</p><p>“I hated it, because I knew even as a child that I would be good at solving those problems, taking on those challenges. And I knew you wouldn’t. Not that you didn’t have the intelligence or capacity for it; just that it made you miserable, brought you no joy or fulfillment, that your heart was in your artistry. You were born to make music, Julian. To make people happy with your songs and your poems. To travel this world with your heart on your sleeve and make it brighter. I could never do that.”</p><p>Jaskier feels a pang of guilt. He’d always believed Marcelina wouldn’t understand how he felt, and clearly he wasted time he could have spent truly knowing his sister’s mind and heart.</p><p>“You’re so smart, Marcy,” he finds himself saying. “I’ve never liked watching Father turn to me for wisdom you always had in spades. Just because I’m his only son. It’s ridiculous. It isn’t fair. And with me gone, he’ll have to turn to you. It’s better this way for me and for you.”</p><p>“I know,” Marcelina says. “I’m just… so proud of you. And I hope that when you’re out there traveling the Continent with your song, and you’re whatever name it is you’ve given yourself, you’ll be happy. And I know it won’t be here in Lettenhove, but… I do hope someday I’ll see you again. Safe travels, Julian, okay? And… write, if you can. I’d be happy to know something about my little brother’s life. If only so I can tell the children where you’ve been.”</p><p>Before he can stop himself Jaskier is crossing the room and drawing Marcelina into a tight embrace. Her arms go around his shoulders and she squeezes surprisingly tight, and they hug each other for a few moments before drawing away. When they do, Marcelina has tears in her eyes.</p><p>“He’ll be angry,” Jaskier tells her. “With me, that is. For a while. But once he realizes I’m not coming back and no amount of coin in the world can change that… he’ll turn to you. And you’ll be ready. And you’ll be incredible.”</p><p>Marcelina smiles at him. “May all three of us get what we want,” she says. “Me here in Kerack, Agnes in Touissant, and you wherever the wind takes you.” Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Melitele preserve me, do you and Agnes really think I don’t know what my younger siblings are up to!?”</p><p>“Well, erm, sort of,” he admits sheepishly.</p><p>“I’m sharper than you two think, Julian. Remember that. We’re cut from the same cloth.”</p><p>For the first time in his life, Jaskier can see that to be absolutely true. Together, they finish packing Jaskier’s clothing and see everything loaded onto the carriage mean to take Jaskier back to Oxenfurt one final time. Their mother and Agnes are waiting by the carriage, and Jaskier hugs all three women goodbye.</p><p>“Be safe, my darling boy,” their mother says. “See you in a few months.”</p><p>Jaskier glances over at his sisters. Agnes rolls her eyes, and Marcelina winks at him.</p><p>“Yes, Mother,” he answers. “I’ll see you then.”</p><p>“Safe travels, Julian,” Marcelina says with a smile.</p><p>“Don’t you dare forget to write!” Agnes adds.</p><p>Jaskier climbs into the carriage and the coachman in the front urges the horses on, beginning his journey back to the rest of his life. When the Pankratz estate is just a speck in the distance, Jaskier leans back and closes his eyes until a familiar caw makes him look out the window once more.  Alongside the carriage Ladybug is soaring, black wings outstretched as she catches the wind and flies up into the sky, staying within view but far out of reach of the earth and anything on it.</p><p>The arms of the Continent and the great world are open wide. Jaskier slips his lute from its case in the seat beside him and begins to strum a tune.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Amazing Devil songs featured in this chapter include: Pruning Shears, Marbles, and a reference to That Unwanted Animal</p><p>your comments clear my skin and water my crops! more is coming hopefully... a lot sooner than this one did... sorry I love you bye!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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